


Erômenos

by Emery, Lalaen (orphan_account)



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Branding, Castrati, Collars, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inverted Master/Slave, M/M, Master/Slave, Oral Sex, Power Play, Prisoner of War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-23
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-02-10 00:57:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2004807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emery/pseuds/Emery, https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Lalaen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a culture consumed by battling for an eternal glory to rival the gods', one soldier's life is seemingly destroyed when taken as a war prisoner. Reiner Braun, warrior turned slave, will not bow so easily before the rulers of this savage land, not even the handsome Prince whose care he is thrust into upon his arrival at the foreign palace.</p><p>Accompanied by Marco, Prince Bertholdt’s personal attendant; and Jean, an obnoxious, bastard child ill-fitted for his high social standing, Reiner finds himself filling an unexpected role in a tale of war, love, and freedom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> We'll be tracking the Tumblr tag **fic: Eromenos** with a close eye, so if the fancy strikes and you're inspired to create, discuss, or otherwise enjoy this fic on Tumblr, please do share with us! We'd love to see, too!
> 
> Speaking of Tumblr, you can find both of us there. Emery, however, is more active.
> 
> [Emery](http://emeryylee.tumblr.com) [Lalaen](http://recrd-chaos.tumblr.com)
> 
> If Twitter is your cup of tea, Emery has one of those, too; and they would love to hear from you if you're reading! Go follow them and watch their crazy tweets about the writing process [here](http://twitter.com/emeryylee).
> 
> I (Lalaen) in no way claim this to be historically accurate - in fact there's several glaring inaccuracies I made on purpose. Just wanted to mention that in case anyone's a particularly strict history buff C: Feel free to guess the nationalities. I avoided mentioning them in order to allow this to be more of a 'historical fantasy', but I made sure there was some pretty obvious hints C:

The sun in this city was hot; much hotter than what Reiner was used to, and he curiously peered between the bars of the carriage he found himself wedged within, shoulder-to-shoulder amongst a dozen or so other warriors. He knew none of them by name, but one or two he thought he recognized from around the war camps. Calling their current mode of transport a carriage was more than a little generous, actually - it was more like a cage on wheels. 

A few days ago, when they’d started their journey, some of the others had rattled the strong wooden bars and yelled insults at their captors. Now, even those who had so aggressively clung to what they thought were shreds of bravery hung their heads in shame.

Reiner, on the other hand, had remained stoic from the moment he’d been taken alive and locked away. He gazed sullenly out at the street, not letting curious foreigners who stopped to look at the passing prisoners of war see defeat in his eyes.

The people here were olive skinned, darker than Reiner but more pale than most people on the coast where he came from. He was used to tight curls, but here he saw full, loose waves. Men and women alike seemed to wear some kind of dark makeup around their eyes, which looked strange when paired with the full beards which grew on every man he saw.

There was no question that he was not going to fit in here, which was no doubt why they’d bothered to capture him as a slave. The thought filled him with disgust. He’d do labor if he must, but being an exotic house slave to some horny old bitch repulsed him. Maybe once they found out he couldn’t get it up for a woman they’d send him to do dirty work despite his light coloring.

His legs were cramped in the tight space, and his stomach ached with hunger. Reiner was used to much worse discomforts, but he was restless. He was not stupid enough to obsess over his new lack of freedom, but he wanted the next challenge to come so he could face it.

Soon they moved from merchant streets to richer areas, and some of the other men started muttering about where they might be taken. Reiner knew that no one was going to tell them, so he didn’t bother. Instead, he contented himself with watching the scenery, which was much more interesting than the barren areas they’d travelled on their way here. He’d initially assumed their destination to be some sort of upscale slaving house where they’d be cleaned up for auction, but they had not yet deviated from the main road. When his rolling cage passed the first group of what appeared to be palace guards, he had to admit that he might’ve been wrong. The carts proceeded through beautiful gardens, the likes of which he’d never seen before, and made a sharp right turn that slammed his head against the bars. He had only a mere moment to take in a huge and impressive building before the cart was swallowed by a tunnel.

Was that a fucking palace?

Reiner had no idea what to think, so for the time being, he didn’t. 

They emerged into a small stone courtyard, where armed men were already grabbing the tired warriors from the cart in front of them by their shackles and forcing them to their knees. Reiner watched as one fought his captors and ended up with a foot pressed into the back of his neck, effectively pinning him face-down while another guard burned the exposed soles of the prisoner’s feet.

Now was clearly not the time to rebel. Reiner had always been good at playing along, and he knew he could put up with a little throwing around. Many men would be ashamed, but as he listened to the screams of his comrade, he decided that there was no pride in being tortured in front of so many others. He sensed greater shame in being forced to walk on burned feet in addition to whatever other indignities they were doubtless expected to endure.

When Reiner’s cart jolted to a stop and the door jerked open, Reiner watched grimly as his fellow captives were dragged off the back one by one. He had the misfortune of being near the middle of the cart, where he’d been unable to escape the overwhelming stink of piss and shit and fear. So many bodies jammed so tightly together was bound to be unpleasant, no matter the reason.

Once hooked, no prisoner was given the chance to get his chained feet under him before he was hauled to the ground. Reiner watched the proceedings before him and tried to prepare himself, but he’d barely been able to move in days and the yank on his wrist shackles was even sharper than anticipated. He crashed to the ground and landed on his shoulder; and though stunned he was not winded. A quick look around told him others had not been so lucky. Someone hauled him into a kneeling position, knees scraping stone. A man down the line had pissed himself. Poor bastard.

Reiner kept his gaze resolutely forwards, not giving their armed guards the satisfaction of being looked upon with fear. In his peripheral vision, he saw his fellows at the end of the line being stripped by servants whom he judged to be primarily older women. There was a sharp tearing sound as his own dirty chiton was sliced off of his back, but he did not flinch; nor did he cower to try and hide his nudity. He sat with his shoulders back and proud. His body was nothing to be embarrassed about. 

He heard one of the guards make a lewd comment about the size of his cock, and he couldn’t repress a smirk. Nothing to be embarrassed about at all.

There was a series of loud splashes, and before Reiner knew it he was drenched. His skin stung as someone - he could only assume whoever cut off his chiton - scrubbed aggressively at his shoulders with lye and a horsehair brush. He remained compliantly still but shook his head like a dog to get the water out of his eyes. The servant washing him was utterly impersonal but incredibly thorough - he felt raw all over by the time they were finished. 

Just as a final bucket of water was dumped over his head, a staggering line of beautiful young women was led through the courtyard. They looked frightened, and he watched as one tripped over the chain between her feet. A guard hauled her up roughly by her hair.

Reiner let out a slow breath. He hated to see women mistreated, but this wasn’t like in the war camps where he could hit a man back for striking his wife. There was nothing he could do naked, shackled and on his knees. He had a feeling he might soon be seeing much worse, besides. He’d heard these bearded savages beat their women regularly.

A quick glance down the line told him that a guard was crouching in front of the men one by one and bolting their shackles to a long chain. After seeing the line of women, he’d expected as much.

One foolish man a few down from Reiner tried to run. Where he thought he was going to go, there was no telling. Reiner could only assume that he’d panicked, as there was no way that he could’ve thought he’d survive naked and chained in an entire city of people he looked nothing like.

A guard cut him down before he could hobble more than a few awkward steps away from the line.

Reiner looked past the man who bent down in front of him and lifted his shackles, simply acting like he was not there. He would not revolt and pointlessly lose his life, nor would he comply. He was bolted on quickly, and as the man moved on he lifted his hands in a simple and instinctive check. As he’d suspected, the bolt was quite solid. He surely couldn’t remove it without a tool. Even if he could have, he was well aware there was nothing for him past that.

Soon came a call of ‘On your feet!’, and Reiner rose with the rest. Many around him wore expressions that spoke of surrender and despair, and he couldn’t prevent himself from being a little disappointed in them. They still had no clue what it meant to be a warrior, even after surviving this long.

Walking with the chain around his feet was awkward to say the least, but he managed. He and his comrades were led in the same direction the women had been, then directed through a door to a dark indoor area. Lined up against a curtain that Reiner could only assume led to another, presumably more massive room, he watched the shadows and shapes of people moving beyond it and heard snippets of their conversations.

“.... finally takes a woman he’ll become a real man,” a deep voice intoned, and it was answered by a woman’s harsh, derisive laugh.

“Maybe if you tried him with a man, he wouldn’t send them away.”

The man muttered something in answer far too quiet for Reiner to hear, and the woman laughed again.

“Well, it’s worth a try, father. You never…” 

Reiner stumbled as the head of the chain was jerked, but managed to stop himself from falling into the man in front of him. It sounded as though several others weren’t so lucky; he heard the quiet curses of their guards as they hauled the unfortunate to their feet.

The room was indeed massive, he discovered as he brushed past the curtain, and even fancier than he’d expected. He had heard that these foreigners were extravagant, but he never could have imagined this. Luxurious, draped colored cloths lined the walls, every surface decorated. There was gold - actual gold, he could only assume - everywhere he looked, and thick, patterned carpets the likes of which he’d never seen caressed his feet with every step.. Even those who appeared to be servants were dressed in an incredibly lavish fashion.

“Pick one, then.”

It was the voice of the man he’d heard speaking before. When he glanced quickly around to find the speaker, Reiner found a man so extravagantly dressed that he could only be a king.

Though he had not thought much of what his future would hold while he was travelling in the cart, Reiner had not expected this.

“I don’t know anything about men,” the young woman next to the King wrinkled her long nose, and Reiner recognized her as the other speaker, the one who’d been laughing. 

There was a long-suffering sigh, then the woman swept down towards the line of prisoners. If that man was the King, Reiner could only assume this must be a Princess. He kept his gaze steadfastly ahead, even as she walked past him. She walked up and down the line twice, before coming back for a third, slower pass.

She stopped in front of Reiner.

He supposed she was pretty, though he didn’t have much of an opinion and had never seen a woman anything like her. Her face was long like her nose, and her dark hair, tied back in a tail, fell only just past her shoulder. Her eyes were vaguely almond shaped, her lashes thick and dark.

She stared up at him dispassionately, and he found himself staring right back at her. Maybe he shouldn’t, maybe to do so would be a death sentence, but he drew the line at showing submission to savage royalty.

“This one. I like this one,” she declared with an air of finality.

“Very well. Shall they take him to be gentled?”

Before Reiner’s stomach had the chance to drop, the woman barked out another one of those laughs. “Nah, I think he’ll want an intact one.”

Reiner thought that maybe he liked the Princess as his bolt was knocked loose from the line. As much as he was telling himself not to think, he couldn’t help but wonder who ‘he’ was. It seemed Reiner might not end up drawn and quartered for his inability to perform after all.

That did not mean he would behave and become the willing slut of some barbarian, but it did mean that the Gods had some purpose for him yet.

He was led back through the curtain, then the courtyard. He was nowhere near foolish enough to ask where he was being taken, or who he now belonged to. The carts were being slopped out, and the body of the man who had tried to run had already been removed. Reiner’s guard brought him through a hallway on the other side of the courtyard, and after a series of turns, the unmistakable echoes of a smithy became evident. It appeared that was where they were headed, as the guard pushed Reiner through the door.

“Gold for this one?”

“Yeah,” the guard grunted. 

“They’re not gelding him first?”

The guard gave a quiet chuckle. “He’s for the Prince.”

“Well, get him down for me. If he moves too much I might end up smashing his head in, and I’m sure they won’t be too happy with me.”

Reiner was forced to his knees and then forwards, head and shoulders over a low anvil. He knew by now what was coming and silently reminded himself that this was about the least of the humiliations he could be enduring right now. 

The ring of the hammer was deafening as it beat the gold bar into shape around his neck. It was not long before he stopped being concerned about the smith hitting him and could think of nothing but the incessant pounding ache in his head. The majority of the work was done right near his ears, and minutes stretched into hours until he had no idea whatsoever how long he’d been uncomfortably bowed over. His knees ached on the gritty stone floor and his back protested its position.

Finally, the hammer stopped falling. Reiner’s ears still rang so badly that he couldn’t even find it in himself to be thankful, but at long last the guard released his shoulders and he could sit up properly. The smith held out a cup of water to him, which he gratefully accepted as soon as he was sure the gesture was genuine.

“Thanks for not fussing,” the smith said as he drank. “Makes my job a lot harder when they’re screaming and thrashing the whole time.”

Reiner regarded him coolly, the strange weight of the metal around his neck lessening his appreciation. The smith didn’t seem to expect much more, fortunately, and left Reiner be. Instead, he moved to the door and stuck his head out.

“He’s ready for you, now.”

Another man entered, one that Reiner guessed must be a servant due to the comparative modesty of his clothes. They were still fine, far finer and more elaborate than anything Reiner had seen at home.

Actually, this man looked to be from one of the coastal regions as well. He had the typical coloring - golden skin and dark brown hair - and the tight curls Reiner had not seen on any of these foreigners. He would be a slave, then; but there was no collar around his neck.

The man approached Reiner directly and gave him an easy smile. There were freckles on his cheeks, something that become very obvious as he crouched down beside him.

“Hi, I’m Marco.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emery: Thank you for all of your comments on Ch. 1! We've updated the fic's overall beginning notes to include our blog information as well as the tag we will track on Tumblr for this fic. Additionally, we had to bump the M rating up to E already. Oops.
> 
> Happy reading!

Without warning, the freckled man took Reiner’s face between his hands and lightly pressed their mouths together. Nothing would have prepared Reiner for that, though it was only a brief brush of lips; and he did little more than stare blankly at the newcomer who at the very least seemed like he might be willing to be kind to him.

Marco inclined his head towards the water in Reiner’s hand. “You’d better finish that. Then, you’ll be coming along with me.” The smile he offered was warm, honestly out of place amongst the hostile expressions Reiner has seen so far, and he wondered if it was because the other man was also a slave.

He wasn’t going to actually ask why he’d just been kissed, so he hoped his confusion was obvious and simply knocked back the rest of the water in the cup. He set the empty cup down on the anvil beside him, deciding he wasn’t going to volunteer any information right now. Marco motioned to the smith, who stepped forwards with his tools and bent to knock the pins out of the ankle shackles. That was certainly not something Reiner could complain about. He moved to rub his ankles, glad that he didn’t have to deal with walking in those any more.

Marco rose to his feet, offering a hand to help Reiner up. He accepted the offer begrudgingly, if only to be polite to a fellow countryman—and to avoid offending someone who could prove a friend in this strange place.

“You probably have questions,” Marco supplied. “I’ll answer them on your tour, hm?” His hands were delicate—at least comparatively so—but his grip was surprisingly strong.

“Why don’t you have one of these,” Reiner said gruffly, tugging at the metal band around his neck with two fingers.

Marco led him out of the hot and noisy smithy and into the courtyard. For a moment Reiner thought he wasn’t going to answer, but it seemed he just wanted to get outside first.

“There are a few reasons,” he said. “The foremost being that I’m a house servant. And,” he added with a teasing glint in his eye, “I want to be here. No need in collaring a willing man.” They went along one of the courtyards paths, through the neatly landscaped gardens that had certainly not been on the schedule the first time Reiner was out here. “You were lucky. To be picked for the Prince, I mean.”

“Lucky?” Reiner said in a dry voice. It was a rhetorical question. “I wouldn’t mind putting some clothes on. Assuming I don’t just sit around naked all the time.” He couldn’t imagine why a man would be a willing slave, but he had more pressing concerns just now.

Marco chuckled. “Not to worry. It’s our first stop.” He offered Reiner an apologetic glance. “I would have brought something, but I wasn’t told what size man I should be expecting.” Apparently as an afterthought, he slid his shawl from his shoulders and offered it to the Prince’s newest slave. “Here. Until we fetch you something more suitable.”

Taking the shawl gratefully, Reiner quickly tied it around his waist. Although his people were no stranger to casual nudity, around here it was clearly not usual to be unclothed and that made him feel just the slightest bit uncomfortable.“What should I be expecting?” He still wasn’t planning on being an obedient whore, so maybe it was best to know.

“Little more than gentle quietude.” Marco’s vague explanations rung throughout the outdoor halls that, to anyone unfamiliar with the palace, would have been a maze. Marco traversed them with ease, but Reiner knew he’d get hopelessly lost were he to try and run. The freckled man turned his head slightly back to Reiner, where the slave trailed a step behind him. “The Prince is nothing to be afraid of. He will treat you well but, if you do not return the favor—” There was that glint again in dark, otherwise friendly eyes. “—I may not be so kind.”

Though Reiner doubted Marco was much of a threat to him, he couldn’t help but wonder what would inspire such fierce loyalty in a mere slave. He could only assume that maybe this man had been taken at a young age and from a bad situation.

“As you may have already guessed,” Marco continued, “you’ve been chosen to become a part of the harem. Most of your other comrades will likely be sent to labor. Your life will be easier, provided you do what is asked of you.” Provided he was a willing slut, that was.

They wound through another garden, a smaller one, and finally through a set of double doors. Great windows allowed some sunlight in to reflect off the intricately patterned tile floor. There were doors on either side of the hallway, which was draped with the same kinds of colorful curtains Reiner had seen before his trip to the smithy, but most of them were closed. Eventually, the hall forked at a T-shaped junction, and Marco led him towards the sound of mostly female voices.

The hallway opened onto a great porch with steps that led downwards. Peering over the railing, it was easy to see a great river flowing beneath them and as far as the eye could see in both directions. A group of women gathered on the porch, many talking and laughing, sorting the garments that had been washed and hanging others up to dry.

“Some pants and a belt for the Prince’s newest, please,” Marco said, and nearly three women at once rose to answer to his beck and call. Either his smile was really that charming, or the palace knew him as one to be obeyed. “A vest, as well, if he’d like one?” The question was directed towards Reiner—apparently, Marco was allowing him his own decision.

Reiner shrugged, not terribly bothered either way. He arched a fair brow at ‘newest’. “How many whores does the Prince have?” Maybe if there were a good few, he wouldn’t even be expected to warm the bed that often.  The women were giving him curious looks; he could only assume it was because of his coloring which was curious even back home. Admittedly, it may also be because he wasn’t wearing that much.

Marco took the garments a woman offered him with a nod of thanks, then pushed them at Reiner. “The question is more ‘how many has he _had_ ’ rather than ‘how many does he have’. He’s hard to please, though not for the reasons you might expect. Get changed, and I’ll show you what you need to see. And,” he added, seemingly as an afterthought, “you can ask all the questions you want to ask.”

Reiner gave a slight frown, though he trusted that Marco didn’t mean the ones the Prince didn’t like were taken away to be killed. He remembered the conversation he’d overheard, and a little smirk tugged at his lips. “... he doesn’t like girls, does he?”

“It’s something like that,” Marco said. “He’s a hard one to explain. It will make more sense once you’ve met him.” His lips quirked up into a cryptic smile, but his face said plainly that he was proud of his position and of who he called Master.

Though Reiner wouldn’t hesitate to change right there, he wasn’t sure if the women would be upset by that. “Where do you want me to change?”

Apparently not one who feared physical contact, Marco touched lightly at Reiner’s wrist to pull him in the direction of a nearby alcove, where Reiner wasted no time in pulling the shawl loose. The pants he’d been given genuinely confused him; but after a few moments looking back and forth between Marco’s and the ones he was holding, he was able to figure out which hole he was supposed to step into. It might have been easier if he hadn’t also had to get around the fact that his wrists were still shackled. Belts were nothing new to him; so as soon as the hurdle of the pants was surmounted, he had no problems. He honestly wasn’t that sure what a vest was—was it the thing Marco was wearing?—if that was the case he was glad he hadn’t gotten one. It had a lot of fasteners and he felt like he’d have made a fool out of himself with it. 

“... I’m Reiner Braun, by the way,” he said, as he realized he never had.

“I was wondering when you would tell me.” The words were accompanied by a lighthearted chuckle. “I’m not one to interrogate the new servants.” Reiner did not miss the purposeful avoidance of the word ‘slave’. “It’s a lot to process at one time. I’ve been where you’re standing.”

Though he’d watched with some amusement as Reiner had figured out the pants, Marco nodded in approval of his success before playfully tossed the shawl he was still holding into one of the great baskets of linen on the porch. Reiner wondered how long it had been. Marco seemed so at ease here—honestly even happy, with the way he talked about the Prince—that he thought it must’ve been years.

“Are you hungry?”

“They sure didn’t feed us on the way here,” Reiner said, and found himself grinning his usual easy grin. There was no reason to be at odds with this man, even if it was clear that he wasn’t about to try and escape himself. It was a lot to process, but that was no reason to be an asshole to equals.

Marco’s own smile widened upon seeing Reiner more at ease now, and he clapped a hand on the larger man’s shoulder. “We’ll fix that, then. I believe you’ll find the offerings here to your liking. You are in a palace after all,” he said with a wink, and Reiner realized again that it was true. He couldn’t imagine what they’d serve in a palace, even to slaves.

“And then I’ll show you to your quarters. I imagine you’re tired. Another day will provide an opportunity for you to see the city. It’s not home, but it will become that way soon enough. The dining hall for us is this way—it’s a room just in back of the kitchens, much more than a hall. We can go there to retrieve our own meals after the palace has been served.”

It was more of the same—gardens, outdoor halls, pillars draped with exquisite fabrics, ornate statues, groups of people and something unfamiliar at every turn. In the distance was what appeared to be an orchard. The scenery left little to be desired. With the palace seated on a hill overlooking the city below, some vantage points seemed like something from a painting.

“Would you like to eat here or in the privacy of your room?” Marco asked as they entered the bustle of the kitchen.

Reiner couldn’t help but let out a low whistle. Prisoner or not, he could appreciate the beauty here; even the view from the modest slave’s hall was impressive. However, he was honestly exhausted; and he could take in both the view and any possible venues for escape much better another time. Though admittedly, there was a guilty part of his mind that was starting to say the life of a slave here might turn out to be better than that of a common foot soldier back home.

“Quarters, for now.”

Marco’s nod was one full of understanding as he took to gathering a platter of assorted fruits and breads for the palace’s newest addition. “In the evenings, there is meat,” he said. “You’re welcome to come and retrieve what you’d like if you’re still awake when the sun sets.” Somehow Reiner thought that was pretty unlikely; even if he was awake he doubted he could find the place again, but he really _didn’t_ plan on being awake.

There were more dizzying twists and turns, but soon Marco was withdrawing a small ring of keys from his pocket. Of course Reiner’s room would be locked—that didn’t surprise him at all. The keys jangled as Marco sorted through them to find the right one, then he unlocked and pushed open the door to what would apparently be Reiner’s private quarters.

“The bath house is nearby as well, should you need it, just beyond the dining hall and to the left. Will you remember?”

Reiner made a noise of assent. There was no fucking way he’d remember, but Marco didn’t need to know that.

- 

Late in the day, when the palace was bustling with groups of advisors, servants, tutors, and nobles wrapping up their various duties, Marco knew exactly where the Prince would be. Just beyond the massive double doors, intricately carved and adorned with gold plating and gems, lay a sprawling suite large enough to be impressive even according to the city’s nobles. A private washroom, library and study, two bedrooms (the larger—the Prince’s; the smaller—Marco’s), a preparation room for the the chef and other servants, a balcony, and more were all at the Prince’s disposal. He was the oldest; and, as the future king, he deserved only the best. 

Marco was proud to serve him.

Although the doors to the larger bedroom were closed, Marco knew that he was always welcome. “There’s more light in the library,” he offered gently upon peeking inside. “If you’re going to read, my love. Not to mention, the sunset really is gorgeous this evening.” The study would offer a prime view, whereas the windows in Bertholdt’s bedroom captured the sunrise instead.

Marco gazed fondly where Bertholdt sat quietly in the mountain of pillows and blankets that comprised his bed, a giant heavy book resting open on his lap. His gaze was turned so downward as to nearly make his thick lashes rest on his cheeks, but he glanced up at the sound of Marco’s voice. “I suppose that’s true. What did they want you for?” he asked curiously.

Marco swallowed hard and stepped all the way into the bedroom before pulling the door shut behind him until he heard the gentle click. A part of him had to admit that he had worried about this conversation, just as he did every time a new slave was chosen for Bertholdt. There was a hint of anxiety, a hint of envy, a hint of reluctance in his voice when he said, “The Princess chose for you, again. I was asked to meet—” Marco inhaled deeply. “To meet him.”

He knew Bertholdt would recognize the pronoun, but the Prince actually jolted in his haste to look up from his book. “ _Him_?” The color started to rise in his cheeks before he could even choke out the word. He’d clearly not expected that. How could he after the King had insisted on marching so many girls through here? One by one, Marco had watched them come and go. Offering a man was a new strategy entirely.

For the first time that day, the corner of Marco’s lips turned downwards. He approached the Prince and his bed with caution, then carefully slipped his hand beneath the book’s cover and let it close. Brown eyes normally soft and warm pierced into Bertholdt’s in a gaze that demanded even royal attention. “Yes, sweetheart. He’s a war prisoner, fair-skinned, fair-haired. His name is Reiner, and—”

It was rare that Marco had a difficult time speaking.

“And he’s yours whenever you’d like him.”

Marco had to admit that he’d grown very good at hiding it, but the anxiety in Bertholdt’s eyes was clear to someone who knew him as well as his attendant. The Prince’s hand caught at his servant’s almost reflexively, and when he spoke it was with a conviction absolutely unheard of otherwise.

“I don’t want any slaves. I keep telling them I don’t care about that,” Bertholdt was almost pleading with Marco, despite the fact that he was a mere servant who could change nothing.

Marco returned the gesture by taking the Prince’s hand in both of his own and rubbing slow circles with his thumb into Bertholdt’s palm. “I know,” he murmured, an apology in his voice. “I know you don’t.” He crawled up onto the bed and settled beside his charge who was barely older than him. It was strange sometimes, to think that Marco was the younger of the two when _he_ was the one caring for the other.

“You’ll have to at least pretend to give him a chance.” The servant’s voice barely rose above a whisper. “We’ll take it a day at a time, all right? If it helps,” Marco began, clearly hesitant, “he _is_ quite handsome.” He averted his eyes from Bertholdt’s when he said it.

“That doesn’t mean I want to bed him,” the Prince replied, in his tone still evident the confusion he felt at this very concept. Marco knew that Bertholdt had never understood it from the first, and only did so less as his family became more insistent. It must have been how poorly he’d been socialized as a child which made him so averted to people, for even now he was loathe to leave his rooms. It was only one of the things which made him the family black sheep.

Luckily, calming Bertholdt down may as well have been listed as one of Marco’s primary duties. Over the years, he had grown quite used to it. He tucked his legs beneath him and leaned over the Prince’s lap, raising his arm to soothingly stroke Bertholdt’s cheek with the back of his hand. “I know,” he said, sympathetic. “We will give him time. We will give _you_ time. Don’t fret, my love. Please.”

He glanced down at the book still in the Prince’s lap and lifted it to be placed aside. “Would you like me to lie with you?”

Bertholdt nodded, tilting his head. “If I pretend he’s what I want, do you think father will leave me be about it?”

Marco nodded slowly, afraid of giving Bertholdt false hope but also unwilling to admit one possible answer to himself. “Maybe.” He would leave it at that, he decided as he tucked pillows behind his Prince’s head and pulled one of the blankets full of down over them both. One arm he draped over Bertholdt’s stomach, the other he slid beneath his neck; then drew him close to press kisses behind Bertholdt’s ear and along his collarbone much less chaste than the one he had given to Reiner upon their meeting.

The Prince made a tiny pleading noise. It was clear he knew he was being distracted, but he wouldn’t have it in him to protest. As always, he was pliant and willing under Marco’s experienced touch.

“What?” Marco cooed, intent on Bertholdt as if indulging his Prince was all that mattered (and it was). “What’s that little noise mean, hm?” He allowed his lips to ghost over Bertholdt’s neck, drew his arms more tightly around him, and sucked playfully on tender spots of skin.

Ever responsive, Bertholdt gasped and twitched upwards against his kisses. “I know you’re t-trying to distract me.” That it was working was unspoken but obvious.

The attendant grinned. “Maybe.” Lower, beneath Bertholdt’s collarbone, Marco worked on sucking up a bruise. “Should I stop, beloved?”

Marco knew that Bertholdt wouldn’t say no. He slid his arms around Marco’s shoulders, his blush coming back full force. He squirmed a little, positively blossoming under the attention.

“Please try not to worry, Bertl.” Marco knew that, if anyone ever heard him use a nickname to address the Prince, even _he_ would be punished; but he couldn’t stop himself from it, nonetheless. The name rolled off his tongue so sweetly, seemed so _natural_ , that there was really no stopping it. “We will deal with what your father wants when the time comes. One day at a time, one night at a time. You’ll have to at least _meet_ him, but it will wait until tomorrow.” He punctuated his sentence with bringing up another hickey, which he slicked with a gentle wipe of his tongue.

“You’re right,” Bertholdt whispered, body trembling.

“And I’ll be here, right here, when you are introduced.” Marco slid the hand draped over Bertholdt’s stomach into his clothing and tickled his fingers over warmed, smooth skin. “I won’t leave you for even a moment, until you ask me to.”

That declaration was true for more than just the evening—Marco would always stand by his claim.

“For now,” he murmured in hot breaths against the Prince’s ear. “What can I do for you?” It was certainly no mystery that Bertholdt wouldn’t want to think about his father or his princely duties, as that was the tragedy. The Prince was far from incapable, but when it came to taking the lead, he was more than useless.

“Please,” was the soft answer, and it could’ve been a please touch me or a please don’t make me say it; it was all the same to the meek and gentle Prince. He arched against Marco’s fingers, longing for more, and  that single word was enough.

Marco shifted his position so that he was on his hands and knees, leaning over Bertholdt and pushing fabric from his shoulders, pulling free the knot of the sash around the Prince’s waist—anything to be able to get to that lithe torso, uninhibited. Even as he grew more aggressive with every passing second, the servant managed to maintain his gentleness while he dragged blunt nails down the Prince’s stomach and pulled a nipple between his lips to suckle gently.

Bertholdt gave a soft and needy whimper, clutching at Marco’s back. He was all reaction, but he was good at that; every breath was a soft gasp or mewl, his fit body squirming to chase every touch.

Marco couldn’t help but feel like this was his final chance to prove himself. It was more than possible, he admitted, that Bertholdt would lay eyes on Reiner and be more interested in his new slave than any previous candidate shoved in his direction. The two of them would be expected to lay with one another, whereas Marco’s _physical_  relationship with the Prince was one kept mostly under wraps.

There was also the fact that Reiner was intact.

The thought made Marco’s stomach drop.

He didn’t mind being a eunuch—it only meant that Marco would be more faithful to the royal family, and he had never shied away from the idea of service. Having been cut well into his teenage years meant little more than an inability to grow a proper beard and a barely existent desire for sex, but neither of those things were important. He and Bertholdt were happy.

He couldn’t help but fear that Reiner would make him happier. He was a young man, too, strong and in his prime and, if Marco had to guess, capable in bed. He could get it up whenever he needed to, Marco imagined, could have orgasms unlike anything Marco could. Bertholdt could enjoy him more.

“Please don’t forget me,” he found himself whispering, barely even realizing that he had lowered his head between the Prince’s thighs to breathe in deeply the scent of warm musk and nuzzle into thick curls. He was rewarded with a groan and, when he peered upwards, a truly gorgeous sight. Hiis beloved’s eyes squeezed shut, his lips slack to bring another choked moan into existence. A hand clumsily found Marco’s hair, threading into his tight curls and tugging.

Marco expertly hefted the Prince’s erection in one hand, experimented with a couple of languid strokes, then parted his lips to let heated breath flutter over the tip of Bertholdt’s cock. He kissed along the shaft, all open mouth and slick tongue, before taking the head between his lips and swirling his tongue over the tip. The bead of pre-cum gathering there was thick and salty on his tongue. Marco grinned. The liquid told even more of Bertholdt’s arousal than did the solid heaviness of his cock in Marco’s hand.

“M-Marco,” the Prince choked, his back arching off of the pillows. One hand tightened painfully in his servant’s hair, and Marco heard the sound of the other flopping desperately onto a pillow. Bertholdt would be holding on for dear life, soon, Marco thought with a devilish grin.

The sharp pricks of pain tugging at his scalp were proof that Marco was doing well, and Bertholdt’s moans were the best praise. There was no better encouragement than the Prince uttering his name in a way so primal, so debauched—Marco’s stomach filled with tumbling butterflies, wings aflutter, when he forced himself further down on Bertholdt’s length and hollowed his cheeks.

The favor was a wet one, messy despite Marco’s care, and every few seconds he paused to slurp at the saliva foraging little trails in drips down the Prince’s shaft. He moaned, twisted his wrist, bobbed his head and swirled his tongue all in unison. Marco was sure there wasn’t another taste in the world so exquisite as the salty musk of Bertholdt’s erection filling up his mouth and stretching wide his jaw.

He earned a whining cry for every teasing movement and a body pressed wantonly up against his mouth. “Please, Marco,” came the panting voice again and again.

Marco had to be careful to move with Bertholdt when he pressed his hips up—he may have been good at this, but that didn’t mean that the Prince wasn’t long enough to choke him. It was easy to make his movements fluid along with Bertholdt. The two of them may as well have been one; and that was how he considered them as he closed his eyes, breathed through his nose, and kept up his work.

If he could have, Marco would have grinned around the cock in his mouth when the Prince’s grip tightened in his hair. He reached up to grasp Bertholdt’s other hand in his own—a sign that everything was all right and Bertholdt could finish whenever he pleased. Even as a servant to a prince, Marco still found _himself_ to be the one asked permission, on occasion. Now was one of those times.

A gentle squeeze to Bertholdt’s fingers was all that was needed. They had this down to a science, now.

One warm spray of the Prince’s seed spilled itself towards the back of Marco’s tongue, followed by another, and another, and as much as Marco wanted to relish in the enraptured cries of the Prince beneath him, most of his efforts were spent holding his hips in place to keep from being choked. He thought briefly of opening his mouth, letting Bertholdt see the way the milky liquid pooled on his tongue and slid down his throat, but Marco knew just as well that Bertholdt would be more embarrassed by the gesture than appreciative of it. Obediently, devotedly, he swallowed everything Bertholdt had to give him until he was sucked absolutely dry.

Only then did Marco release Bertholdt’s cock from his lips, a slick _pop_ , and wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand. He grinned up at his Prince and crawled towards the head of the bed. With him, he brought the blankets that had piled themselves lower, covering his Prince’s exposed figure and finding a comfortable nook against his body to snuggle into.

“Thank you,” Bertholdt said in an embarrassed murmur, hiding his face in Marco’s hair.

There would be no mention of returning the favor (Bertholdt knew better than to ask, by now), as the two snuggled bonelessly close.

The sun had all but set now, the sole lantern beside the luxurious bed being the only illumination in room; but how could Marco mind that when the shadows played so handsomely off of his Prince’s face, caressed every sharp angle and curve of his cheeks, and lit the soft texture of his perfumed and oiled hair? It was early, still, and the night was young, but Bertholdt never took part in the palace’s evening revelry. He and Marco much preferred the silence of the Prince’s quarters, the luxurious bed, and the electrifying thrill that came with every soft movement of skin against skin.

When they had each other, they needed little else.

Content to murmur sweet praises into Bertholdt’s ear, Marco cherished the sound of his charge’s steady breathing until its rhythm slowed, every beat punctuated by the deep, full sounds that came only with sleep.

“Rest well, my Prince,” Marco murmured. He did not rise to return to his own bedroom, as if he was afraid of squandering his last chance. After all, there was no guarantee that _he_ would be the one warming the Bertholdt’s bed the following night.

Instinctively, he wrapped his arm more tightly around the Prince’s waist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Emery: The MarcoBert is strong in this one.


	3. Chapter 3

It wasn’t until after he’d eaten and slept that Reiner so much as had the ability to really take in his quarters—or even the fact that he had them. When he woke, however, it was to the dawning knowledge that he actually had his _own_ room. It was small, but the privacy was unlike anything he’d ever known. He’d call the room spare, at least in comparison with the rest of this incredibly lavish palace. However, it was still much fancier than any room back home. The bed was incredible, especially after three days jolting around in a cage packed with other men. Honestly, after waking up in the luxury of his very own room, this was beginning to feel like a strange dream.

He reminded himself that a kept pet, no matter how well treated, was a kept pet nonetheless.

There was a knock on the door. Reiner was immediately on the alert, but decided to wait and see if the visitor announced themself. Instead of an announcement, he heard a key clicking in the lock.

His hopes that it would be Marco were answered—it was nice to see a familiar face, he had to admit. The other slave wore a pleasant smile. “Good morning! Up already? That’s a good man.”

“A soldier has to be up at sunrise,” Reiner replied, wondering if Marco was always so damn cheerful. He wasn’t sure what was in store for the day, but if it was more like this he didn’t think he could complain much. “Can I have these off soon?” He held up his wrists, the heavy chain swinging between them. He didn’t expect the answer to be yes, but it was worth asking. The shackles weren’t exactly comfortable.

Marco offered a more sympathetic grin as he stepped further into the room. “I’m afraid not. Not yet, anyway. Especially not before you’ve been presented to the Prince.” He moved to the small window on one wall and thrust the curtains to the side, causing Reiner to blink at the sudden flood of sunlight. “I hope the view pleases you. This is one of the nicer rooms, for someone of your status.”

“I’ll help you wash, if you’d like.” Marco accompanied the offer with a nod towards the shackles, indicating that he knew they would cause some difficulties. “Then we'll fetch some breakfast and bring you to your Master?” He ended the sentence with a question, as if it were a proposition rather than a mandated series of events. As well as mirthful, it seemed he was polite to a fault.

Really, Marco was entirely too happy about the whole ordeal for Reiner’s tastes—after all, if one wasn’t a free man, what was there to be happy about? It was a thought that rose to his mind from his military training more than one he genuinely felt, more and more now as he was treated so well. Maybe, no matter how terrible this Prince was, warming his bed once and a while in exchange for this life was a better career than sweating and bleeding and killing men only to win the privilege to live for another day.

He shook the thought, reminding himself that here he was a whore. A gilded cage was still a cage, and he was anything but a free citizen of his own country.

“I’m not a child, but I’m not sure I can wash myself in this state." Reiner sat up on the edge of the bed, naked from sleep and not even mildly ashamed about the fact. “They sure did a job of it yesterday.”

Marco hummed his agreement and poked his head back out into the hallway, where he spoke to someone before coming back in with a basin of water. “The filthier you are, the harder they’ll scrub. Surprised all of your skin is still intact.” The freckled attendant chuckled despite the morbidity of his words. “You can call for water on your own, if you’d like. The slaves will answer to you.”

Once Marco had brought the basin inside and set it beside the bed, he pointed to his own neck to indicate Reiner’s collar. “The gold puts you a step above.” Twisting his wrists in opposing directions, he wrung out a rag which he brought to Reiner’s back. Marco’s technique was certainly more gentle than what Reiner had experienced the previous day.

“Can you manage your front?”

It endeared the other slave to Reiner far more that he still treated him as capable even when he was being washed like a child. He really wasn’t sure how he felt about ordering around other slaves, but he supposed he was thankful for the information. Reaching for the basin, Reiner retrieved another rag in order to help. He figured that was answer enough.

Soon Marco withdrew, dropping the rag back in the basin as he went to stand by the window and allow Reiner some privacy. It seemed like he couldn’t take silence for long. “Unless the Prince requests otherwise,” he said, “I’d like to bring you on an errand after the introductions. You’d like to see the city, no?”

“Sounds alright,” Reiner said quietly. He struggled a little to reach some spots as he washed, but he felt that he was doing a decent job. He was very sure that he wasn’t going to get these manacles off before this evening, but he told himself that at the very least he could learn the layout of the city a little. All he’d seen on his way here was the main road. “He’s not likely to request otherwise?”

“Not immediately,” Marco chuckled. “And not in the middle of the day. There will be fresh garments for you in the chest at the foot of your bed, once you’ve finished. If you’d prefer, you may wear what was provided yesterday.”

Being a soldier at the base of things, Reiner was quick to wash and dress as instructed. Pants were easier to navigate the second time around, though they still felt oddly restricting compared to the short chiton he was used to. “Shouldn’t I be a little more fancy if I’m meeting a Prince?” it was more than half a joke, though a sorry attempt at one. He’d always had good humor, though he supposed he’d had a harrowing enough week to excuse it.

Marco finally allowed himself to turn back around. This sort of modesty between men was unheard of for Reiner—the other slave had surely been here too long. “If you suit him, I’m sure he’ll have you fixed up.” Marco gestured to his wrist, jangling the chain around it; then tugged at a matching piece that hung loosely around his neck. “I have much more, too.” Reiner didn’t know whether he _wanted_ to be fixed up, but nevertheless he remained silent on the subject.

Cocking his hip to one side and resting his hand on it, Marco glanced Reiner up and down. His mouth pulled to one side in a contemplative grimace, then he went to dig through the chest himself until he pulled out a decorative sash. He draped it around Reiner’s waist and tied the fabric in a sturdy knot, standing back to examine his handiwork.

“This will do.” Motioning towards the door with one hand, eyebrows lifted expectantly, Marco said, “If you’re ready?”

Reiner gave a firm nod. He’d like to get this over with, whatever his fate may be.

As Marco led him down the halls and towards the Prince’s private quarters, he made perfectly clear the procedure that was to be followed once Reiner was in royalty’s presence. “In case you were unaware, the appropriate greeting from one of your standing is nothing less than your deepest bow. You’ll be expected to lower to your knees and flatten yourself before the Prince until he offers for you to rise. Do not speak unless you are spoken to, and answer only as prompted.” Reiner could hear his inner monologue saying that there was no way in hell he was kissing the fucking floor for even his own King, never mind a barbarian Prince. He wasn’t stupid enough to voice the thought.

“He is quiet,” Marco added with a smile. “And likely still half-asleep. If you’re anything like me, you’ll find yourself smitten with him before the morning is up.”

Reiner couldn’t prevent the smirk that started as his guide continued talking, because it was only too clear how _truly_ smitten Marco was. Anyone would be able to see that he was head over heels in love with the Prince, and hardly trying to hide it.

“Were all the other ones before me smitten too?”

Obviously startled by the question, Marco stopped in his tracks and glanced over his shoulder at Reiner, eyebrows raised slightly. “Hm, it’s hard to say. He hasn’t kept any of them around long enough for me to tell. Besides, nearly every single one enjoyed pretending I didn’t exist, as if _they_ held higher rank.” Marco huffed out a breath of air through his nose, clearly offended at the thought of these girls who’d been chosen for the Prince.

“Women,” Reiner snorted under his breath.

Soon they came upon a door that Reiner could only assume was the entrance to the Prince’s quarters. It wasn’t even because it was more ornate a door than his own, but because of how Marco straightened his spine and pushed his shoulders back. He indicated for Reiner to do the same. “Relax.” It would be hard not to, with the smile he offered. As much as Marco had gone native, he was still uncommonly sweet.

Reiner wouldn’t call himself so much tense as he was alert, which was really only wise when entering a new situation like this. However, Reiner prided himself on the fact that no one man had ever intimidated him. He didn’t intend on that changing, royalty or no.

They bypassed two main rooms before Marco signaled for Reiner to stay put, then carefully tugged at one of the two doors ahead. It could only be assumed that this was the bedroom. The attendant murmured something and an even quieter response followed before he stepped entirely inside. It was only a moment until he reappeared and beckoned Reiner forward.

“The Prince will see you.” Reiner felt like the formality was unnecessary, but Marco seemed reluctant to let it go as he hold the door open. He even bowed his head upon the slave’s passing into the Prince’s quarters.

Reiner walked past him, fearless and ready for anything that might await him.

He genuinely did not expect what did.

In a bed resplendent with pillows and blankets sat a sleepy-eyed young man that could be no older than he himself. He had no beard—that was striking, as was his bare torso. His relation to the girl who’d gotten up in Reiner’s face to choose him was clear. They had the same long nose, long face, and pale olive-toned skin.

What was most unexpected of all was the slump of his broad, bony shoulders; the meek and vaguely embarrassed way that his gaze flicked down and his brows drew together.

As much as Reiner had not been afraid to face royalty, he’d never thought the Prince would be intimidated by _him_.

Marco shut the door discreetly behind them and walked silently past Reiner, directly towards the Prince’s bedside. “Reiner Braun,” he said, giving Reiner and expectant look. He ran his fingers over his charge’s forearm in what was nearly a lover’s caress. “Hand picked from the company of war prisoners directly by your sister, the princess Ymir. We all hope he is to your liking, your majesty.”

The Prince gave Marco a look of genuine distress which told Reiner that this wasn’t normal behavior for them. He looked so uncomfortable with the way he was being treated that Reiner became sure that the formalities were for show, for his benefit. He did little but incline his head, despite Marco’s gaze boring into the side of his head.

“Prince Bertholdt,” the young man’s voice was a shy murmur, and to imagine him addressing the public or commanding armies with it was laughable.

Marco pursed his lips and jerked his head towards Reiner in a deliberate nod, no doubt an indication to follow the instructions he had been given. “When before your Prince,” Marco began, expecting Reiner to complete the equation on his own and take the appropriate action. His fingers twined with the Prince’s, holding his hand as though he were a child.

Reiner would have scoffed at Marco’s implication, but he wasn’t that rude. The Prince seemed not to notice his lack of a grovelling bow; or perhaps he just didn’t care at all. He pulled the blankets off of himself and stood, not breaking Marco’s grip.

Apparently Reiner was not through being surprised, because he certainly was by Prince Bertholdt’s height. Though the attendant was not a small man, he only came up to his Prince’s chin.

Marco’s displeasure was clear in his grimace and furrowed brow, but he didn’t seem like the kind of man who started confrontations. He tilted his chin up proudly when Bertholdt stood next to him.

Still, he looked amused at Reiner’s surprise. “Would you like to inspect him?” He offered to the Prince, though it was very clear to Reiner that Bertholdt didn’t want to ‘inspect’ him at all; that the prospect made him incredibly uncomfortable. Reiner was starting to wish he _had_ bowed, if only because it would’ve flustered the poor thing more.

Nevertheless, Bertholdt took a few steps forwards, like it was Marco who was in charge of him and not the other way around. He too seemed curious about Reiner’s fair coloring, his dark eyes taking in the slave even as he was still blushing about it. He reached out and brushed the tips of his fingers against the gold band around Reiner’s neck, glancing back at his attendant. “I don’t like this.”

Marco quirked an eyebrow and pursed his lips. “They won’t be happy if you have the collar removed,” he said simply. Reiner thought he sounded a little hurt, and wondered if Marco held any jealousy towards the whole idea of his Prince having a sex slave. He wouldn’t be surprised, what with how obviously enamored the attendant was.

“At least not yet.”

Reiner could not find it in himself to be an asshole like he’d been intending all this time. In fact, he couldn’t stop from offering the same grin as he had to Marco. “I think they want to make sure I won’t run away, first.” He said it in a joking tone, though it was also a completely serious statement.

“Father wouldn’t let me,” Bertholdt said in his soft voice, brows drawing together again in mild annoyance. “Not a harem slave.” Reiner was getting the distinct impression that maybe the Prince disliked the idea of slaves altogether.

Marco looked distinctly relieved, though Reiner pretended not to notice.

“Remember what you were instructed about speaking out of turn,” Marco reminded, though his voice was hardly hostile. He sounded more like a disappointed parent.

Despite the formality that Marco was trying to enforce and the copious amounts of golden jewelry on Bertholdt’s person (had he slept with all that on?), Reiner already found it almost impossible to think of him as the royalty that he had been built up to all this time. There had to be some mistake. Surely no one so meek could be the crown Prince?

“I was trying to make him less uncomfortable,” was what Reiner ended up saying. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing he could have voiced, but it was the truth.

Marco lowered his gaze. At first Reiner was surprised by the gesture of submission; before he realized that wasn’t what it was at all. It was closer to acceptance, possibly even respect.

“Does he please you, my Prince?”

After stopping a moment to consider, Bertholdt turned his gaze on Reiner, addressing him directly for the first time. “Did my father give you any instructions?”

There was a sureness in his tone that hadn’t been there before, and Reiner knew that there was only one right answer. Fortunately, he was pretty sure he was able to give it truthfully. “No. He hardly even looked at me.”

“... I am pleased,” the Prince said quietly, sitting back down on the edge of his bed.

Only when Bertholdt sat back down did Marco release his grip on the Prince’s slender hand, although he made no effort to hide the way his fingertips lingered on the young man’s olive skin. “Do you wish to keep his company for now?” Marco asked. “Or shall I return him to his quarters to await your summoning?”

Reiner had never considered himself particularly perceptive, but from the look the Prince gave Marco it was only too clear that he didn’t feel up to spending time with some stranger. Honestly, Reiner got the feeling that Bertholdt didn’t like spending time with much of anyone. He gave the impression that he was exceptionally shy.

Marco certainly didn’t seem to need verbal direction. He lowered his head in a half bow to acknowledge the Prince’s presence a final time before withdrawing toward the door. He told Reiner to follow him out in a low tone.

Honestly, Reiner was relieved to leave the room. Obvious shyness aside, the intimate relationship between the Prince and his attendant was more clear now than ever, and being between them like that was rather awkward. He supposed that they were going to town, as it seemed like Bertholdt wouldn’t be wanting him later that night.

Marco waited until they were out of the royal suite entirely and halfway down the ornamented hallway before he turned to Reiner again. His tone was flat and lacking its usual enthusiasm when he said, “I’m heading into the city for an errand. You may accompany me or stay here. The choice is yours.”

It was pretty obvious Marco was pissed at him, probably about the bowing thing. Honestly, Reiner didn’t give that much of a shit. Anyways, how could Marco complain when the Prince hadn’t seemed to mind at all? He shrugged. “I’ll come.”

The servant nodded curtly and led the way outside. As they walked through the gardens and towards the main gate, Marco spoke up again. “Why didn’t you bow? And why, for gods’ sake, did you speak out of turn? You’re lucky that he didn’t protest.” His pace was brisk, though out of frustration or simply a hurry to finish whatever they were up to, it was difficult to tell.

“We don’t do that where I come from,” Reiner said as he followed after, still in relatively good humor, considering. Everything had gone more or less better than expected. He knew there was no way to explain to Marco if he didn’t already understand.

Marco snapped his head back to Reiner even as he kept his hurried pace. “You are no longer where you came from,” he reminded the slave. “You’ll have to abandon thoughts like that if you are going to succeed here. Our customs are your customs, now, and customary procedure when before the Prince is _certainly_ not to be ignored. Do you understand?” The scolding was again more paternal than malicious—firm, but not unreasonable. “It’s for your own good,” Marco added more gently.

Reiner snorted, intent on teasing Marco back into a good mood. “Are you my mother?” He grinned at the other man before starting to look around at the city, which wasn’t much less impressive than the palace.

“Someone has to be until you get your legs around here,” Marco said. His voice was still hollow, but the familiar glint had returned to his eyes. He nodded to acknowledge the guards at the gate when he and Reiner walked through. Briefly, he directed a wary glance towards the shackles around Reiner’s wrists—just in case.

“I’m picking up a couple of books for the Prince,” Marco informed him as they traversed  the streets of stone which wound around the palace. Stalls of bright fruit, leafy vegetables, and other wares lined both sides of the road; and the further Marco led Reiner into the markets, the louder and more crowded the path became. He drew nearer to the slave out of what Reiner could only assume was sheer necessity.

“This part of the city is occupied mostly by nobles and some of the wealthier merchants. Esteemed workers of the palace live here, as do many scholars. To be frank, it’s rare that I ever have anywhere to go more than a mile away from the palace. For our needs, everything is quite central.” Marco gave him an expectant look as they walked. “What do you think?”

“Well, it’s a lot more lavish than anything back home,” he said. He could see a lot of collared slaves running about, no doubt belonging to the merchants or wealthy households and running their own errands. No one seemed to pay him any mind, so it seemed a slave still in manacles wasn’t terribly out of place here. He glanced at Marco to see if the other man understood what he meant—after all, it couldn’t have been so long that he’d forgotten what the coast was like.

“I’m not planning on running off on you, so don’t worry about that.”

When Marco caught Reiner’s glance, he smiled knowingly and nodded, but otherwise remained silent. It looked like maybe he didn’t want to remember their home. It wasn’t really a stretch that his life was better here, free man or not.

“Marco!”

All at once, a lanky young man emerged from somewhere within the crowd and took long strides straight to the palace servant until they were barely a hair’s breadth apart. There was little hesitance as he extended his hands to hold those freckled cheeks and bring Marco’s lips to his own. Their mouths lingered on each other’s for… quite a while; much longer than Marco had kissed Reiner upon their meeting. It was so long that the fair-haired slave actually found himself getting uncomfortable, and he wasn’t even the one being kissed. When the newcomer did pull away, it was only an inch or two.

Marco’s flush was light, but there _was_ a flush all right. “Don’t you have classes, Jean?”

“Not until this evening.”

Reiner stared at him in mild amazement. The kissing thing was really bizarre. Surely that couldn’t possibly be a normal greeting? He’d come to think Marco had done it to him because it was their first time being introduced, as strange as that still seemed. He absolutely refused to believe people just ran up to each other on the street and smooched.

From the look on Marco’s face, it seemed that if they did, it wasn’t for quite that long.

“Where’s your mother?” Marco asked as he peered over the heads of the other streetgoers.

The youth—Jean, apparently—frowned. “Not here. I’m old enough to be out and about. Just because I don’t have a _prince_ to care for doesn’t mean I can’t take care of _myself_.”

It was true enough. There was an unmistakable youthful glow about him, though that might have been more thanks to his air of excitable immaturity rather than his actual age. Regardless, his features were sharp enough that he no longer bore the rounded face of a child, his face long and appearance almost pointed instead. He nodded towards Reiner and quirked an eyebrow as he smirked to the side and his cheek dimpled. “Got a new dog?”

“His Master did,” Reiner said.

Jean’s other eyebrow rose to join the first. “Ah, so he’s a whore then. You let him speak out of turn?” As had nearly everyone Reiner had met so far, Jean seemed fascinated by Reiner’s fair skin and hair. Unlike others, Jean could barely be bothered _not_ to stare—though as soon as Marco spoke, one hundred percent of his attention was back on the attendant. Reiner might as well have not existed at all.

Marco’s answer was something about how he didn’t much mind Reiner’s manners unless they were before the Prince, but Jean didn’t even seem interested in the answer to his own question.

“You should leave the palace more often,” he urged instead. “Come visit me instead of dragging sluts around on chains. I get lonely.” Reiner ignored the dig. It was already obvious that this guy was an asshole.

“You don’t have friends?” Marco frowned.

Jean shrugged, and nothing more.

“Is he bothering you?” Reiner asked Marco directly.

Marco grimaced, side-eyeing his fellow slave; but he did make sure to look Jean right in the eye before adopting a smirk that Reiner was quite proud of. “No. This big baby just doesn’t have anyone to bother when his mother and his tutor aren’t around. Right, Jeanbo?” Not once did Marco break eye contact with Jean while he answered, punctuating the sentence with a wink and a teasing twitch of his lips.

The kid didn’t seem in a joking mood. He crossed his arms over his chest and offered up a vicious scowl. “Sure seems like _your_ dog to me. All protective and shit.” When Jean chanced another quick look at Reiner, the way his scowl morphed so quickly into a shit-eating grin implied he had noticed something he hadn’t before. Confident now, he took a step past Marco and towards the slave, then reached out just far enough to tug on the chain that joined the shackles around Reiner’s wrists.

Reiner couldn’t help but find it funny that this bratty kid was still pretty careful about getting within arms reach of him.

“What if I _was_ bothering you, huh?” Jean asked. “What’d the big boy here do about it?”

“You’re a spoiled ass, Jean.”

In an instant, the chain that’d lain across Jean’s hand was across his throat, the boy’s back to Reiner’s muscular chest. Reiner grinned.

“You’d be surprised.”

Reiner didn’t miss how Marco’s hand moved instinctively to his hip, the way his legs shifted. That answered some questions—he’d certainly been trained as a soldier, as Reiner had. Reiner wouldn’t hurt Jean. It was a joke, a _lesson—_ and it seemed Marco couldn’t deny this idiot needed it, as he relaxed and straightened his posture. Honestly, it didn’t even look like the attendant was armed.

Jean’s knees trembled like he was about to piss himself.

“All right, Reiner. He gets it. Relax, Jean.”

It took him a moment, but when Jean finally recovered from the shock of it all enough to realize that he _wasn’t_ being choked, he took the opportunity to duck out from beneath the chain and offer a swift but pathetic kick to Reiner’s shin with the toe of his sandal. Honestly, Reiner barely felt it.

“Fuck you!” Jean cried, cutting off Marco before he could scold him more. “There’s no way you can let that near a prince! You just threatened someone of high class, you—”

“You’re not a big deal, Jean,” Marco deadpanned. Reiner couldn’t stop grinning. “Cut it out and don’t be late for your lessons.”

Jean pouted. “But I don’t—not until tonight!”

Marco clapped a hand on Jean’s shoulder and bent down the inch or so he needed to in order to speak in his ear—Reiner wouldn’t call it a whisper, as he could still make out the words easily. “If I promise to come back and visit you, will _you_ promise to not act out so damn much? It’s not respectable. Honestly, it’s hard to believe you’re only a year younger than me. You act like a child.”

Not terribly bothered by Jean’s tantrum, Reiner watched with quiet amusement. “I’m pretty sure the Prince isn’t a piece of shit, so he shouldn’t have any problems,” he said jovially, in even better humor now than he had been before.

Jean didn’t spare Reiner a nasty glare and downward turn of his lips, but he seemed to have learned his lesson and didn’t antagonize the slave any further. Instead, his hostile expression transformed almost immediately to one of longing and apology when he let his hand brush along the back of Marco’s hand. He shuffled his feet. “Promise?”

It was hard for Marco not to roll his eyes. “Yes, Jean,” he replied with more than a little impatience pushing at the edge of his voice. There was more gentleness in his eyes when he said, “I have an errand to run, and you certainly have something better to be doing than flirting with me.”

Although difficult to tell whether Marco’s accusation had been serious, Jean’s cheeks darkened noticeably. His goodbyes were little more than stammered, confused combinations of words; nothing more was offered to Reiner than a final glance, and Jean was gone.

Alone again, Reiner had to ask the question burning on his mind for too long. “So _why_ is it that everyone kisses everyone else, here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lalaen: "Oh no, he's hot."
> 
> Emery: All hail the awkward implications of possible Jeanmarco! We're loving your comments, guys. Keep them coming!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnd we're back! 
> 
> Many, many apologies for the delay in posting this chapter. Emery landed themself in medical school and has been drowning in absurd amounts of biochemistry, immunology, oncology, and the like; and it's been nigh impossible to find time for the lovely Mediterranean boys.
> 
> It also hasn't helped that Lalaen has been without a working laptop for much too long. ;__; 
> 
> Thank you for sticking with us! Every single comment has been important to us, and we have great plans for this fic!

It quickly became clear that Marco did not have time to babysit Reiner; therefore, though he still had to wear the shackles that became more of a nuisance with each passing day, the door to his bedroom was left unlocked. This allowed him to get his own meals, bathe, and explore the palace at his leisure—something he had a lot of, seeing as he had no duties of his own and the Prince didn’t appear to have any immediate plans for him. Now that he’d met the young man, that was no surprise.

At first, he had enough trouble just remembering how to get to the servant’s dining area. The layout here was almost mazelike and nothing close to what he’d seen back home. However, once he’d mastered that, his restless spirit had him wandering further and further from his rooms. He wasn’t used to this much free time; and besides, it was important to map out as much of this place as possible for when the opportunity of escape presented itself.

Unfortunately, he’d never been one much for mapping. He soon found himself hopelessly lost in an area that he’d thought was just next to the women’s baths. That was proved wrong when he took what he’d thought were the appropriate turns.

“You’re the Prince’s newest slave, aren’t you?” The voice that Reiner heard speak up behind him was soft, delicate, nearly angelic; and it belonged to a youth who must only have been a few years younger than him. He, too, was fair-haired and marble-skinned, although his features were far softer and more childlike than the slave’s. Golden eyelashes partially shielded the boy’s eyes, as his gaze was drawn downward to the scroll he held open between his hands. Only briefly did he allow himself a single curious look at Reiner before shifting his gaze towards the floor again.

“You’re also lost.”

“…guess I am,” Reiner answered curiously. The boy was clearly a eunuch, seeing as he didn’t seem young enough to be so waifish and pretty still. This was the only other blond he’d seen since arriving at the palace. Instead of specifying which question he was answering, the words that came out of his mouth were, “You can read?”

The eunuch nodded, and with much reluctance pulled his eyes from the script and carefully rolled his reading material with a few quick movements. “When you have access to such a plentiful library, it’s difficult to keep from learning. Can you?”

Reiner furrowed his brow. “…no,” of course not. He’d come from nowhere near wealthy enough a family to be tutored, and common soldiers weren’t taught things like that. He’d heard that sometimes children were taken from upper-class families to be cut as punishment, perhaps this was such a case. “How the hell did you know who I was, anyways?”

A shrug served as Reiner’s only answer at first. Then, “There’s usually quite the commotion whenever another—” The boy paused before deciding on the word he wanted. “ _Partner_ is chosen for the Prince. He’s had many. There are even betting circles, now.” When he finally lifted his azure gaze from the intricately-tiled floor to peer up at Reiner, he smiled. “I’m Armin.” The grin was a quirky one, but genuine and kind regardless—nothing like Marco’s, anyway. There were things hidden in Armin’s expression that Reiner could only guess at.

Maybe that was the way Armin wanted it.

“Reiner,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. He had no idea what to make of this boy except that he was a hell of a lot smarter than Reiner was himself. He was by no means offended that his position was such a big deal—after all, he’d already gotten that impression from Marco. “I honestly don’t think he likes slaves that much.” Reiner held his tongue about Marco. With the way the handservant acted, his unconventional relationship with the Prince had to be common knowledge—but it might not be.

Armin shrugged. “I wouldn’t, if I were him.” Reiner was pretty sure that Armin was speaking above his station, something he could get in a lot of trouble for—but the boy didn’t seem to care. The kid had an air of blunt honesty about him. It was obvious that he meant no disrespect. In fact, his face showed an admiration indicating that he too had fallen under Bertholdt’s subtle charm. It seemed as if everyone liked the Prince, and Reiner could definitely see why. He could admit that Bertholdt’s meek demeanor made his protective instinct flare up.

“What are you trying to find?” Armin asked.

Reiner just shrugged, somewhat sheepishly. “Was just trying to get my bearings. I only know how to get to the kitchen and the bathhouse.” Honestly even that was an exaggeration, because he’d ended up in some strange places in his attempts to get clean once or twice.

Armin held up the scroll he had been so involved in reading when he had come upon Reiner. “I’m returning this. Come with me and I’ll show you the harem. You’ve met the Princess?” He made a kind of half-turn, indicating that Reiner should follow without completely turning his back. The soldier understood why—he was _at least_ twice Armin’s weight, so it was only wise for the eunuch to be careful. After all, the fact that he was still in chains likely didn't bode well to the other members of the palace, and this boy didn’t know him. The young eunuch had a good head on his shoulders to take precautions against hostility.

“She was the one who picked me, I think. Freckles?” Reiner followed him, fairly thankful he didn’t have to walk around looking like an idiot any more. He wasn’t sure what the harem would involve, but hopefully he’d be able to get Armin to take him back to the kitchen so he could find his room again.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Armin grinned. “Yes, that’s her. She has her own harem—unlike her brother, she is _quite_ fond of her slaves. I’m well-acquainted with most of them. You may enjoy their company as well.” Reiner would be fine with hanging around with some other men; but he had the distinct feeling that if it was the Princess’s harem, there’d be no men involved.

Armin led him down some hallways that Marco had thus far ignored during their brief exploration, and while the eunuch was much less outgoing than Bertholdt’s personal attendant, he was just as friendly and informative.

“You’ve heard what they all say about him, haven’t you?” he asked with only a hint of hesitation in his unusually soft voice.

Reiner raised a brow at him—he had a feeling he hadn’t heard, but he was pretty sure he knew exactly what they said. “Unless it’s something Marco says, I doubt it.” He knew it wouldn’t be.

Armin grimaced. “Marco is one of the few who _doesn’t_ agree with everyone else. And, well, I can’t say that I do, either. I like the Prince.” He turned his head to Reiner with a still-wary eye. “I don’t often see him, but he’s been kind to me on the occasion I do.” With a sigh, he continued, “Most of the court, including the King, seems to think he’s entirely useless. Have you met him, yet?”

“Once, for a few minutes,” Reiner said. He wasn’t sure if he could trust Armin or if this kid snuck around getting things to hold against people, so he chose his words very carefully. “He’s too shy and gentle to rule, isn’t he? I can’t imagine him commanding much of anything.”

The smaller of the two shrugged. “Perhaps he’s capable, perhaps he’s not. The fact is—he hasn’t had any real chance to demonstrate. It’s been a long time since we’ve seen war close to home.” Armin looked like he regretted bringing up the war, but Reiner wasn’t terribly bothered by the topic. As much as he thought of these foreigners as barbarians, he certainly realized that captured slaves and even civilians weren’t to blame for the conflicts abroad. In fact, they likely had very little knowledge of what was going on.

“Honestly, I doubt you will see much of it; what with the losses we were suffering before I got taken.” There was no accusation in his voice.

“You’ll be in good hands,” Armin offered in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood. Reiner did not miss the look the little eunuch shot the metal cuffs on his wrists.

When Armin’s gaze rose, however, his look was unmistakably one of sympathy. “We can hope so,” he said. There was a hollow emptiness in his voice that suggested he may have feared otherwise more than he was letting on. This was a smart kid for sure, and Reiner wouldn’t be surprised at all if he had an interest in politics.

“The library for the servants is here,” Armin suddenly informed. He had led Reiner through a garden, one much smaller and more enclosed than the grand, colorful displays of the courtyard. A small building separate from the palace and just a little run down stood before them, half-covered in vines that climbed its walls and part of the wooden door.

“Doesn’t look like a lot of people come out here,” Reiner said. Not that he was surprised—he was sure that most of the servants and slaves, like himself, could not read. For that reason, he really doubted he’d be coming here again. “The Prince likes reading, doesn’t he?” That was a sorry attempt at conversation, but he remembered Marco had been picking up a book for Bertholdt when they went into town.

When Armin opened the door and held it for Reiner, he peered back at him with stars in his eyes. “Yes, and Marco tells me his library is quite possibly the most expansive in the land…” He sighed wistfully and tucked his scroll back into place only to retrieve another. It was clear he knew exactly what he wanted, despite the contents of the dimly-lit room being dusty and tattered. “Gods willing, I’ll have the opportunity to see it someday. I’m sure you’ll be able to.” The twinge of jealousy in the statement was barely perceptible, but still present.

“I can’t read,” Reiner said, as despite the fact he’d already said it, Armin seemed to have forgotten. “So admittedly it doesn’t mean much to me.” He’d much rather have access to somewhere where he could spar, but he knew that’d never happen. No one would be idiot enough to let a foreign slave hone his fighting skills.

Armin smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry,” he chuckled, clearly chiding himself inwardly. “I get a little over-excited, sometimes. Would you still like to meet the others in the harem?” With much more care than seemed necessary for such an old door, Armin closed the slab of wood until it latched and held his new scroll close to his chest.

“I guess,” Reiner muttered, following after Armin again. The boy was pretty cute, if not intelligent enough to make him a little nervous. “Thought it was frowned upon to go in a harem unless you’re a eunuch?” Not that he planned on impregnating any women.

Armin’s bubbling laugh was not what Reiner had expected, but the boy seemed to feel no shame when he gave a knowing look and replied, “The Princess’s threats are enough to make any man afraid of touching her girls. It’s not much of a concern.

 _Girls._ Reiner knew it. 

“She seems like a capable woman." She'd had a hell of a stern look on her. He offered Armin a grin as they wandered through the corridors. He vaguely recognized things, enough so that he knew he’d walked this way before.

Armin stopped suddenly and gestured with his free hand towards a branch of the hallway to their right. “It’s here,” he announced needlessly, as what lay before Reiner could be little else than the harem. “You’ll probably find them quite agreeable.” More sympathetically, he added, “I’m sure it’s been difficult to adjust. Maybe talking to some other residents of the palace will help.” With a little bow of his head, he meekly excused himself, muttering quiet pleasantries and saying that he hoped he would see Reiner again. “Oh, tell Mikasa hello for me, please,”  
  
The soldier nodded, despite not knowing who the hell Mikasa was, before turning back to an expansive room so lavish that it made the Prince’s bedroom look quite modest.  
  
The biggest difference was, of course, that there were girls _everywhere_.

-

“I don’t know, my love. This one looks a little difficult.” Marco hesitated when he flipped through the first several pages of the leather-bound book the Prince had placed in his hands. They stood side by side in Bertholdt’s elegant library, peering up at the selection of books with spines intricately decorated and pressed. Gold-leafed pages fell between Marco’s fingers until he closed the cover and offered it back to his Prince. “I’m afraid I’ll embarrass myself more than relax you trying to figure out how to read that one…”

Bertholdt nodded, acquiescing that it might indeed be a little too hard. Marco was not a very accomplished reader—in fact, he’d been completely illiterate until the Prince taught him. Of course, with so many books, it was easy to find another one that looked appealing, and the  next one that Bertholdt chose was one Marco was familiar with. He would have no trouble with this one.

Of course, the Prince’s eager, hopeful smile as he held the book out to his attendant was enough to make him try almost anything.

Seeing its title, Marco immediately felt more at ease. He returned Bertholdt’s smile and held the book close to his chest when he retreated from the shelves and towards the center of the great room, where plush couches adorned with blankets and cushions not unlike the ones piled on the Prince’s bed awaited them.

Seeing that wide pull on Bertholdt’s lips, full of eagerness and gentle adoration, was one of Marco’s favorite things; and he practically had to keep himself from bouncing on his toes with excitement.

“Here?” he asked, motioning to one of the couches large enough for both of them to recline together. Sunlight fell down on Marco’s dark hair in rays that may as well have framed him with a halo as he gestured to the couch. “Or…?”

The other option, of course, was Bertholdt’s bedroom.

“Bed,” the Prince replied with a quiet decisiveness he really only showed around Marco.

Marco should have known that Bertholdt would choose the privacy of his bedroom over the library’s own comfortable spaces.  When he was safely locked away in there with his books and Marco, the only person he trusted—or that held a high opinion of him, for that matter—Bertholdt was like an entirely different person. Despite the elegance of the library and its floor to ceiling windows and skylights, the Prince rarely chose to relax and read anywhere but his bed. He was more comfortable there, and with good reason. There were no expectations to live up to in his bedroom—only Marco’s.

And it was rare that the Prince failed to meet Marco’s expectations.  
  
He watched, worshipful, as the Prince nestled himself into the silk blankets, jewelry jangling as he got comfortable and made a place for Marco to lay beside him. This was a ritual now, had been for years, ever since the Prince had began teaching his attendant how to read.

Marco settled himself into the bed beside Bertholdt and, even before opening to the first page, leaned over him to plant a chaste kiss to his lips. The kiss was, after all, just as much a part of the routine as the reading itself.

Many of the plays in the library had only had two characters, so Marco and his Prince often read the parts back and forth to each other. The attendant took a deep breath and pointed to the first lines of the play, spoken by one of the two characters featured. “Should I?” he asked. He was familiar with this story, one of many legends of the gods that he had been taught since he was a child. He knew of the Prince’s fascination with foreign dramas, and although the years spent in the palace had taught him to feel more Persian than Greek, he was still honored to be able to share the stories of his culture with Bertholdt.

With the Prince’s permission, he began to read. He wasn’t bad, by any means, even if some of the longer words were preceded by a momentary struggle with phonics; but it was clear nonetheless that Marco’s literacy was only recently developed. Usually a confident man, he still found himself relieved when it was Bertholdt’s turn to read and he could take a break.

It was certainly one of the best things about reading plays that Marco didn’t have to read too much at once, and the Prince picked up seamlessly where he left off. It was as obvious that he was a very good reader as much as it was that his attendant was not such a good one; his speech was fluid and his gaze turned down the the parchment of the book, long, thick lashes shading his eyes.

Frankly, it was distracting. Everything about Bertholdt’s features, relaxed and entirely at ease while he read aloud and lost himself in this fantasy world far away from his obligations in the court, only made Marco want to kiss him again.

He did.

Midway through Bertholdt’s turn at reading, Marco lifted himself onto his hands and knees and leaned over both the Prince and his book. There was no time for protest when Marco lowered his mouth to the hollow of Bertholdt’s throat, trailed kisses up one side of that long, beautiful neck. He lost himself in the warmth radiating from olive skin and breathed in the scent of rare, one-of-a-kind perfume so deeply until he knew that the scent (and Bertholdt) were a _part_ of him.

Chaste kisses had escalated to open-mouthed explorations and flicks of Marco’s tongue against the Prince’s pulse, then scrapes of teeth along a prominent jawbone.

Marco was pretty sure he had missed his cue to begin his turn.

Bertholdt flourished from the affection that Marco knew he craved, and his head turned to expose more skin for Marco to do with as he wished.

“Marco, this isn’t relaxing,” he muttered, but as usual it was clear he wasn’t complaining.

It was hard to stop himself, but if Bertholdt wanted Marco to read to him, he would read to him. Even though it had been routine for so long, every now and again nights came when Marco couldn’t keep himself away. This was one of those nights.

Perhaps it was because, as much as he hated to admit it, he felt threatened. A part of him—admittedly a larger part than he would have liked—had wanted so badly for Bertholdt to say that he did _not_ approve of Reiner the day he had been presented.

Marco liked Reiner. He didn’t like, however, the thought of being replaced.

With obvious reluctance, Marco pulled himself away and offered an apologetic smile when he took the tome back into his hands and began to read again. He wondered if the Prince would make any move to pick up where Marco had left off. His self-esteem could certainly use the confidence boost. He needed to feel wanted again, to be Bertholdt’s chosen, his preferred.

Marco had nothing else in life.

Hesitant and shy, one of Bertholdt’s long-fingered hands slid across the blanket and twined with Marco’s own. The action was almost childlike in its innocence, though the Prince leaned closer as his attendant read. Though, as was usual, he was hardly sexual; it was very clear that he wanted to be close again and he wasn’t getting enough right now.

Marco couldn’t help it—his eyes shifted to Bertholdt long enough that he stumbled over his words and gave away the fact that he had looked away from the page. Heat pricked beneath his skin and his stomach turned. He never got flustered. What was this? He didn’t even realize his grip on Bertholdt’s hand had gone nearly white-knuckled.

He couldn’t take it anymore.

“When are you going to bed him?” Marco asked. Clearly, that line was not in the book.

The Prince glowed red, completely unable to find words. “I…” as shy as he was, he’d never been a person who stammered. “I…don’t want to.” It was immediately obvious he hadn’t even thought about it.

Marco blinked, and then immediately felt like an idiot. He lifted his head only to lower it again out of shame. What had he done? Clearly, Bertholdt was upset. All Marco had done was put additional pressure on him, when that was the last thing he needed.

“I’m sorry, my love. I wasn’t implying that you were under any obligation to do so. Forgive me.”

He lifted Bertholdt’s hand to his lips with a barely discernible tremble in his grip.

There was an awkward moment of silence before the Prince began speaking again, with obvious difficulty. “…I _am_ under an obligation. We know that.” He was unable to meet Marco’s eyes.

“If there’s no possibility of producing an heir, then why?” The question was out of Marco’s mouth before he even had time to consider what he was asking and the way it would make Bertholdt feel. Marco was supposed to be the Prince’s safe place, his confidant; and here he was only exacerbating an already difficult and delicate situation.

The Prince’s voice dropped to a quiet murmur. “If I don’t prove myself to be, ah… _normal_ ,” he paused, embarrassed. “They’ll just get another one.” At least this wasn’t one of the girls instructed to force themselves on him and tell everything to his father.

That's what this was about—proving that Marco's sweet beloved was a “normal” man, a sexual being. None of it made any sense to Marco. It never had. Requiring the Prince to sleep with a woman for an heir was one thing. Sure, it infuriated Marco to know of all the times Bertholdt had been forced to do something against his will, but at least there was an end goal.

To have him sleep with Reiner seemed nothing more than a forced act of humiliation. Could Bertholdt win? To sleep with Reiner meant to be forever condemned as _queer_ and _unusual_ , but to refuse bedding him would only mean further criticism and another one of those women too conniving and cruel to be, in Marco’s opinion, allowed to live.

Marco wanted to tell Bertholdt that he was sorry, but how many times before had he said the same thing? What did it matter anymore whether or not Marco was sorry? He was powerless, in the scheme of things.

This wasn’t right.

“…At least he doesn’t act like a slave. And, he seems like he could be kind?” Bertholdt mused, his voice unsure enough that Marco knew he was trying to convince himself more than his attendant. “I know I’m expected to bed him…” The Prince pressed himself closer to Marco, his body language making it clear he didn’t want anyone else near him.

Marco held him tighter. “It doesn’t make sense,” he said aloud when all he really _wanted_ to say was _I don’t want you to_.

It would be out of line. Marco had more respect than that. He kept his mouth shut.

“There doesn’t seem to be a single thing in the world that you could do to make your father happy, my love,” he mused. A pout tugged the corners of his lips into a frown, and he turned his head where it rested on Bertholdt’s chest to gaze longingly at the book they had discarded—their only escape now ruined.

The Prince did not deserve this.

“You could pretend, you know. To sleep with him, I mean.” They needed a plan.

“Do you think that would work?” The Prince allowed barely a hint of hope into his voice.

Marco thought that maybe Bertholdt could invite Reiner in at night and he and Marco could just teach him to read, too. If he’d just been a soldier before his enslavement, he probably didn’t know how. Plus, if Marco helped to teach Reiner, too, it would only mean more rapid improvement. He would love to be able to read to Bertholdt any play the Prince chose—even the most difficult and verbose.

“What if my father asks him?”

Marco grinned, although the expression held no mirth and seemed out of place beneath the stone-cold gaze of typically gentle eyes. “I will make sure Reiner knows exactly what to say, if questioned. And,” he added. “If worse comes to worst, who would the King be more likely to believe? A foreign slave, a prisoner of war freshly captured? Or a loyal servant of many years—his son’s personal attendant? My bedroom shares a wall with your own. I can testify that I’ve—” Clearly uncomfortable, Marco paused and swallowed past the lump in his throat. “That I’ve heard proof.”

Bertholdt’s hand moved to grip almost desperately at Marco’s arm, and the look in his eyes said that all he wanted was for everything to be all right.“I mean, if you think that’s best,” Bertholdt said under his breath, failing to meet Marco’s eyes.

Marco brushed shaggy bangs from the Prince’s forehead and, in their stead, pressed his lips gently to the exposed skin. “I think what’s best,” he said, “is a happy Prince. And if that means proceeding with a plan like this one, then so be it.”

When Marco picked up the book again and began to read, his voice rang confident and eager as he slowly sounded out the difficult words and recited more familiar passages by heart. He slumped against Bertholdt’s body and soon found himself pleasantly lost and wandering freely in a fictional world, content in the company of his Prince.


	5. Chapter 5

Reiner could only stand there and gape for a few moments before the girls noticed his presence, and cascades of titters and giggles alerted him to the fact that they certainly had. There was a flurry of movement, a swirl of fabric that soon revealed a tiny girl as close to his coloring as he'd ever seen. Even back home, golden hair was rare--never mind anything approaching the incredibly pale hair and pink-fair skin that Reiner bore. This girl was beautiful, something he had no problem admitting no matter how uninterested he was in women. Clothed in flowing pink and white fabrics whose sheerness more than hinted at the pleasing curves underneath; enormous blue eyes gazing up at him from her diminutive height, he knew this was exactly the kind of woman that other soldiers might call a personification of the goddess Aphrodite herself.

Apparently his mere existence was enough to earn him a dazzling smile, and he couldn't help but quirk his lips back at her.

"You're the prince’s newest, aren't you? I had heard you were handsome."

Reiner grinned down at her, no stranger to such compliments. "Thank you, miss." The three other girls who had been sitting around started to rise and come over.

“Well whoever you heard from told you right.” The assertion came from a second girl who opened her mouth, the words much louder than the tiny goddess’s voice. The brunette approaching Reiner didn’t try too hard to hide the fact that she was sizing him up from head to toe. Just because these women served another female apparently did not mean they shared the princess’s same proclivities.

“Don’t be crass.” Reiner watched almond eyes of the third flutter downwards, even though the owner of the orbs oozed confidence. She reprimanded the second girl not from embarrassment, but from a genuine dedication to honor and good standing.

The loudmouth brunette was from the coast like he was--that much was obvious. Her full curls were pulled back in a tail and she was happily eating a handful of figs that she’d brought with her when she got up from her reclining place upon a couch. The one who had reprimanded her possessed a very straight figure, lacking curves to a degree that reminded Reiner more of a child--where he came from, women were full, voluptuous. This build was unfamiliar to him. However, he could easily see the strong cords of muscle in her arms. This was a woman he would not want to cross. He hadn’t seen a face like hers before either, though he’d heard those from the Far East looked like she did.

There was a fourth girl--also shockingly fair, with her hair piled on her head. She hung in the back, levelling him with a cold and calculating stare from heavy-lidded eyes, and she did not speak.

“All four of you belong to the Princess?” Even though he’d only met her once, Reiner found it very easy to picture that woman surrounded by all four of them and languishing under their attention. A smirk tugged at his lips.

The brunette mumbled her affirmative through a mouthful of fig before swallowing the sweet juices down and just as easily plucking another from the bag. She tossed it to Reiner without warning, a fun-loving smile curling her lips. “She at least feeds us well. What’s your name, huh?”

“Reiner,” he answered easily, and the little goddess immediately inclined her head to him.

“I am Historia. This is Sasha,” the girl who was eating, “Mikasa,” the one from the Far East, “and Annie,” the silent one. Historia continued with her bright pink-lipped smile, “The Princess is very good and kind to us. She is a wonderful woman.”

In the back, Annie rolled her eyes.

Sasha nodded her head towards the fig Reiner caught so swiftly (even with his wrists still shackled), seeming pretty obsessed with making sure he at least tried a bite--probably just so she could reclaim the rest of the fruit for herself if it wasn’t too his liking. “Historia’s in _love_  or something,” she said, full of drawn-out emphasis and goofy grins. “Pretty much everyone in the palace knows.”

Mikasa must have seen Annie’s eye-roll--her lips quirked into some sort of grimace that conveyed she felt the same. Even as she so obviously disapproved of Historia’s aggressive affection, the fondness towards Annie she harbored in her eyes wasn’t something she was doing a particularly good job of hiding.

“And Historia’s not the only one smitten with another woman,” Sasha added. Reiner noted she wasn’t even turned towards the two silent girls, but he supposed this may have happened often enough that Sasha was already aware of their clandestine glances. Her only love, as it seemed, was for the food in her hands. It must have been a relationship rewarding enough. The figs were plump and ripe, perhaps some of the largest Reiner had ever seen.

Reiner popped the fig in his mouth to discover something sweet and delicious, similar but not entirely like those he’d had back home. He gave Sasha an appreciative nod to show that he had enjoyed it. “So like Marco then,” he said with a grin, pretty sure this was safe information that everyone indeed did know. “Except, of course, it’s not another woman who’s got _his_  attention.”

Historia burst into a fit of giggles.

Sasha snerked around her fruit. “It’s true, really. I don’t even think he tries to hide it anymore. Is he _jealous_?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. “Now that you’re the Prince’s newest and all? I mean, I know he’s been pretty nasty to some of the women His Highness tried to get to bear the Prince’s children…”

Reiner shrugged. “I think he might be, but he’s really friendly. I guess he could just be doing that for show.” Reiner really wasn’t sure if that was true or not. Marco did seem genuine, and he suspected that was because of his intimate knowledge of how truly shy and anxious the Prince was. With that, who could threaten their relationship? Bertholdt could barely glance twice at anyone but his handservant. Marco really had it all.

The brunette shrugged. “He’s a sweetheart, yeah. Just figured that someone can’t be perfect all the time. I mean, it won’t make a difference if you have no better luck with the Prince than every other slave thrust in his direction--and you probably won’t. The Princess took all the ah--” Sasha giggled. “--well, she makes up for the both of them.” A mischievous glance towards Historia only solidified what Sasha must have meant.

Reiner grinned. “She’s the sex fiend. I understand. Keeps you ladies busy?”

Historia went slightly pink, but her big eyes danced with laughter.

“None of these are up for grabs.” That loud, unmistakable voice could belong to only one person--the same woman who could manage to carry an air of regal authority even with her playful lips upturned and her narrow eyes sparkling with devilry. The Princess swept into the room with a dramatic flip of the curtains at its entrance and stepped right into the small space between Reiner and Historia. When she bent down to hold the most petite of her harem and plant a kiss on her lips, it was more than obvious that the gusto was only for show--an exaggerated claiming which Reiner couldn’t have missed if he tried.

“I’m not interested, ma’am.” He said with his chin resolutely up. “I have about as much interest in ladies as I think you do in men.” His muscles twitch into a half-smile. “Though I congratulate you on their beauty.” Considering her status, maybe he shouldn’t be so sassy, but that was who he was and what he did and he certainly couldn’t help it.

Ymir pursed her lips when she straightened and turned to Reiner with a firm challenge lurking in her gaze. It was unclear at first whether she was as amused by his comment as he had hoped she would be, but when an obnoxious laugh bellowed from her mouth, any tension built up in the harem was gone. Sasha joined in, too--Mikasa and Annie, as expected, did not.

“I like you,” the Princess said. “My instincts were right. You’ll be good for my brother.” She leaned in close and said in a not-so-quiet whisper, “Don’t be gentle with him,” then chuckled, unashamed.

Nearly impossible to embarrass, Reiner shot back a grin of his own. “Don’t you worry, Princess.” After a moment’s thought, he threw in a, “Thanks for the blessing.”

A light tap on the doorframe interrupted what was becoming somewhat awkward for a few of the girls, and Reiner turned to see Marco’s sun-freckled cheeks dimpled with his smile. He bowed to the Princess with a fluid, practiced movement, and stated his purpose, “I’ve come to retrieve the Prince’s. His presence is required in the private dining room.” The handservant didn’t step any further into the harem, as if it was sacred ground or rather something he just didn’t want to touch.

Reiner was almost surprised, but he didn’t let it show. He gave a nod to the Princess and her girls before heading over to Marco’s side. It wasn’t so much obedience that brought him there as much as curiosity. Was it really the Prince who’d called for him, or was it Marco’s idea? That seemed more likely somehow.

“I apologize for the interruption, Princess,” Marco said before nodding at Reiner and leading him out of the harem, back into the great hallways of the palace (but not without a discrete little wave towards the female slaves). Reiner didn’t miss the wave. He knew that they were all servants, plucked from their homeland and given a new life in this place full of gold and affectionate royalty. One and the same. Whether or not Marco knew the girls well likely mattered little. Unspoken bonds connected them all, regardless.

Reiner didn’t ask any questions, waiting for Marco to say anything if it was relevant. He wasn’t exactly dreading seeing the Prince again, even though he was far from used to dealing with people so quiet and nervous in disposition--being in the military from such a young age had seen to that. However, the challenge interested him. He’d always been extremely social and almost universally liked, so he couldn’t resist trying to draw out a man like Bertholdt. If he was going to languish here in this palace, he would at least languish with a challenge.

“I don’t know how in the world you ended up in there,” Marco said, “but you may want to think twice before you encroach on the Princess’s property without permission.” Clearly, Marco had not borne witness to Ymir and Reiner’s casual banter. “She’s quite the opposite of her brother--can be somewhat, ah, _possessive_  at times.” Hearing it from him was almost funny. “At any rate,” he continued. When he turned to Reiner as they walked briskly down the palace’s great corridors, Marco wore his usual smile. “I hope you’ve been finding your exploration of the palace to your liking. I have another errand to run in the city, today. While I’m away, you will dine with the Prince.” Still no hint as to whose idea this whole thing was. “There will be guards present, and your shackles will not be removed. I trust, however, that you will behave yourself?” Marco lifted his eyebrows expectantly, his features full of playful teasing.

Perhaps he trusted Reiner more than some of the other members of the palace.

“I have a feeling that the only way I’m going to hurt him is if he has a nervous breakdown because you aren’t there,” Reiner said, raising his eyebrow. “Besides, the Princess just said she liked me. A eunuch named Armin brought me to the harem, and the girls came to talk to me. They seem very friendly, for the most part.” The Annie girl not so much.

Marco hummed. “I suppose the Princess would be biased--she did choose you for Bertholdt, after all.” It seemed strange for Marco to not place an honorific before his Majesty’s name, but Marco himself barely skipped a beat. He and the Prince were, at any rate, intimate enough for an occasional slip to mean little.

“I’m glad you met Armin, though. He’s an intelligent boy and a dedicated servant. One of my better friends, here, if I had to choose.”

“He couldn’t believe I didn’t know how to read,” Reiner said, still rather in disbelief about that. “I can’t believe _he_  knows how to read. He must have come from a noble family.”

The handservant only grinned, whatever answer may have come interrupted by their arrival at the Prince’s private quarters. Marco stepped in as comfortably as he would have crossed the threshold of his own home’s door, held the door for Reiner, then closed it softly behind them.

Bertholdt was actually fully dressed and out of bed, wearing what looked like quite a number of layers and even more jewelry than Reiner had been before. It would be an exaggeration to say that the Prince looked up; but his gaze did briefly flutter upwards before again being obscured by his thick lashes. He was seated on his hip on a divan in a way that entirely obscured how tall he was when standing.

Marco stepped over to Bertholdt, the soles of his sandals tapping delicately on the room’s tile at the border before drowning in the plush rug which covered much of the floor. He bent to plant a delicate kiss atop the Prince’s head, then whispered just loudly enough for Reiner to hear, “You look gorgeous today, darling. Shall I call the servants to bring you and your slave a meal?”

“Yes, please,” Bertholdt said, a poorly concealed confused slant to his brows. It was starting to become evident this was not his idea at all, and Reiner was not surprised.

He had the feeling he was supposed to be ordered to sit or kneel, but he was absolutely sure that wasn’t going to happen. Crossing the carpet after Marco, Reiner gave it his best guess and knelt on the floor near the divan. He had absolutely no idea if he did so because he wanted to decide to take action of his own free will or because he wished to spare the poor Prince the indignity. Reiner honestly expected to be reprimanded for his insolence--sitting down of his own accord, how dare he; and wasn’t he supposed to do some ridiculous bow thing?--but it seemed like that wasn’t going to happen.

Marco disappeared for a moment into an adjacent room, the only evidence of his actions within being the sound of a bell which reverberated throughout the quarters.

When he returned, he was all warmth and affection to the Prince--why should he not be, Reiner supposed, when there was no one but a mere slave to witness it?

“My errand shouldn’t take long. Is there anything I can bring you?” In a bold display that Reiner had a feeling was more for show than for anything else, Marco perched himself on the same cushion as Bertholdt and leaned over him to brush the back of his hand against the Prince’s cheek. Surely, he wouldn’t remain there as soon as he felt there would be others present. A blush rose in Bertholdt’s face.

Reiner had no idea why Marco was being so aggressive in asserting himself as the Prince’s lover. He couldn’t actually believe Reiner would try to seduce the Prince and steal him away? The poor thing grew embarrassed by displays of affection from someone obviously dear to him, so to think that Reiner actually had a chance was rather absurd.

As expected, Marco rose only moments after sitting down, mere seconds before a pair of servants entered with platters of food large enough to feed six rather than two. This time, Marco did bow before leaving. He didn’t forget to shoot Reiner a warning glance before rising. The warning held very little hostility, however. The look could have been more to give Reiner well-wishes--it was really impossible to tell with Marco.

Bertholdt was noticeably even more awkward with others in the room, and it was impossible not to feel a little bad for him. Reiner watched him as he pulled his knees up even closer to himself, looking for all the world like a shy child. Royalty, Reiner thought, really did not get socialized properly.

He watched Marco disappear, away to his errand, and eyed Bertholdt as much as he figured he would be allowed. It was difficult to decide which should hold more of his attention--the delicious food or his master, curled up like a child.

The silence stretched almost horrifically until the Prince finally worked up the nerve to speak. “I’m supposed to serve you in this situation, but I think that’s really strange,” he said in his soft voice, looking at the floor somewhere in front of Reiner instead of at him.

Reiner had no idea whether or not it was appropriate to attempt offering a solution, so he at least waited for the other servants to take their posts at the far edges of the room before speaking in a tone to match the Prince’s quiet one. “Would it make you more comfortable, m-my Lord, to serve you instead?” It still felt wrong to speak to this man as such, not only because of the Prince’s meekness, but because acting with any sort of submission in this place would likely never seem right to him.

Bertholdt looked almost a little startled at the honorific. “Please serve yourself… I’m not very hungry.” He paused a moment. “You can ask me if you don’t know what things are.”

He certainly wasn’t making this easy. With a quick glance up towards the other servants in the room, Reiner awkwardly reached for one of the wooden plates, noting the intricate carving along its borders, and picked at some of the simpler samplings such as breads and jams. He would have hated to have shown his ignorance of the foreign foods in front of the Prince. Marco was much better suited to answer questions such as that. “Thank you,” he said. He still wondered if where he was sitting was appropriate, but as he hadn’t been told otherwise by Marco, he supposed it was fine.

The jangling of his shackles as he spread a healthy helping of fruit spread along his bread echoed in the otherwise silent quarters. Reiner remembered the Prince being silent, but after visiting with the Princess and her harem so soon before this encounter, everything seemed even quieter now.

“I’m really sorry you’re here.” Quiet as it was, the words sounded startlingly genuine. “In general…I wish they’d stop giving me slaves.” Bertholdt reached out even more hesitantly than Reiner to pick at some sort of unknown fruit. Maybe that wasn’t hard, because Reiner didn’t really do anything with true hesitance.

Frankly, the slave had no idea what to say. A few things came to mind, none of which would likely be appropriate for this situation or any other in which Bertholdt was involved. He was sorry he was here, too. There was a patriotic fire for his homeland which still burned within him and would never die, one which made him grit his teeth upon seeing the shackles on his wrists every time he lifted a piece of bread to his lips. “I don’t have to be,” he finally settled on saying. “It was your servant’s idea, wasn’t it?” Was that out of line? He hoped not. It wasn’t like the servants at the edges of the room could hear him, anyway. He supposed everything would be all right.

Bertholdt could never punish him. He didn’t have the confidence.

The Prince didn’t even look slightly offended. “...Yes. I suppose he thinks it’s for the best, somehow.” The Prince nudged a plate of some kind of cured meat closer to Reiner. “This is good…”

Reiner reached towards the meat without hesitation, if only so that Bertholdt would be a little more comfortable. The slave felt bad for him. There was no mistaking his discomfort, and if Reiner had thought it was appropriate, he would have gotten up and left. He feared Marco’s resulting wrath moreso than the Prince’s.

The jangle of his shackles punctuated Reiner’s quiet thanks. He chewed the meat carefully, ultra-aware of every sound he made in the otherwise silent room. He could have been forced into manual labor in the merciless sun outdoors, so he supposed this was all right.

He was used to military rations, even in his hometown--this may well have been some of the best food he had ever put in his mouth.

Bertholdt picked at his food like a bird, no doubt another manifestation of his nervousness. Occasionally he’d push a plate towards Reiner to encourage him to try. “You can’t read, can you?” he muttered after several moments of silence. Unlike Armin, he didn’t sound like he expected the answer to be yes.

Reiner shook his head. “It seems that everyone else can, but it wasn’t something I was taught as a soldier.” He honestly wasn’t sure if he even had the intelligence to do so if he tried.

“There’s a lot of really wonderful stories.” Bertholdt perked up a little, and after a moment’s consideration unfolded himself from the couch and disappeared into the library. He reappeared with a heavy, well-cared-for book and slid back onto the couch. “Do you like ships? This is a popular story from your homeland. Maybe you’ve heard it, because the gods are involved?” He still spoke quietly, but a lot more than he had before now. “It’s about a man going on a long voyage. I can start reading it to you, if you like?” His cheeks turned a light shade of pink, as if he had only just realized how much he’d said.

Reiner could hardly believe what he was hearing. Not only was the Prince speaking more than one sentence at a time, but he was actually offering to _read_ to him? Actually, Reiner hadn’t seen Bertholdt this happy, yet. If it hadn’t been happening now, before his very eyes, he wasn’t exactly sure he would have been able to imagine it. The way the Prince’s dark, gentle eyes glimmered with curiosity and the whimsy of adventure when he opened the book wasn’t unlike some of the children who had gathered around Reiner in his homeland to hear stories of glory and battle from the army.

It was--did Reiner dare think it?-- _cute_.

“Only if you have the time to waste, your Highness.” There was that honorific again, foreign but tacked on out of obligation. “Would it be more suitable for me to tell you the tales that have been passed on to me by word of mouth?” Reiner may not have been able to read, but he was energetic and charismatic enough that he could narrate a captivating story.

Bertholdt actually made eye contact with him. He glowed moreso than Reiner had ever seen him. “That would be really wonderful. I’ve never left the city, you know. I’ve only left the palace--” he counted quickly on his fingers, “--about half a dozen times or so. I’d actually…” he retreated into his shell a little, staring at the floor. “Like to hear about things you’ve done. I’m sure they’re really interesting.”

There was a time when Reiner would have been more than happy to take such an opportunity to brag of his accomplishments and his many feats in battle, but that was a desire gone now with the past. In the back of his mind, Reiner knew that any time he was prompted to speak of the things he had done, his story would only end with his violent abduction to a foreign country, to this place. It was not a day or a journey he wished to remember.

Pity for the Prince rose from his gut, but it would take more than that for him to give in to displaying any sort of affection for the royalty responsible for his enslavement. Then again, Bertholdt _had_ just expressed his displeasure at the notion of possessing slaves for himself. If it was up to him, Reiner was sure he would be back in Greece.

Even for foreign royalty, the ruler of enemies, Bertholdt wasn’t so bad.

“If it so pleases, I would rather save those stories for another time,” Reiner said. He eyed the remainder of the food, mostly untouched, and the thick tome in Bertholdt’s lap. He knew that he had no intention of ever sharing his experiences at all, but such a blunt disregard for the Prince’s interests may have proven less than fortuitous. “Are you familiar with Ganymede, the cupbearer for the gods?”

“I may have heard him mentioned.” Bertholdt moved the book from his lap and leaned on the side of the divan. He looked interested, and picked at some more of the fruit. “But not at length.”

“Is that something you would like?”

The Prince nodded, then poured Reiner a cup of wine and nudged it across the table.

Drink was something that Reiner had not been offered since his introduction to the palace--no, not since his last victory with the Grecian army. He fingered the delicate carving of the cup, toyed with its rim, then took a sip with the vibrant memories of sitting around a campfire with his comrades so fresh on his mind that it may as well have happened the previous day.

He nodded to Bertholdt, an indication of his appreciation for the wine, and began his tale. “Of course,” he began with warning, “It is a brief story, nothing like what you might be accustomed to from that, ah, book of yours.” Reiner gestured towards the volume the Prince still held in his lap, now ignored in favor of listening to Reiner’s more unfamiliar stories. “Ganymede was a young man, a _handsome_ man--” Reiner smirked. “--who tended to his herds in the meadows of Mount Ida. While his animals grazed, he listened with rapture to the words of his tutors, lounged in the grass, drank in the warmth of the sun and enjoyed the company of his comrades and friends--he was beautiful enough that very few could keep their eyes away. His hair curled in soft ringlets around his face, and his eyes shone with compassion towards his herds, eagerness during his lessons. There were very few from whose attention he could escape, and that included the almighty Zeus.

“Daily, he watched Ganymede from his throne on Mount Olympus, until he decided at last that there was no need to be patient any longer. The king of the gods has no need for restraint, after all.” The slave grinned and paused to take another more hearty drink of his wine. “Zeus adopted the form of an eagle and swooped down to take Ganymede for himself, returning to Mount Olympus with him and electing his new acquisition the cupbearer for the gods and the object of much affection.” The expressions on Reiner’s face twitched with playfulness, and he even managed a wink once. Given his preferences, tales of male lovers had always remained his favorites.

Bertholdt paid rapt attention, but he perked up in surprise when it was made clear that Zeus wanted Ganymede for himself. “You openly share tales like this? Featuring two men sensually involved with one another?”

Reiner failed to understand the Prince’s concern. “Of course,” he said, his lack of comprehension completely clear. Was there reason not to? Besides, it was clear that Bertholdt had never considered the autonomy of the gods. Even if there _was_ some objection towards the idea of two men sharing a romantic or sexual relationship, who were the gods to respect the expectations of mortals? This place where Bertholdt had been raised was certainly a strange land indeed.

“...Alright.” The Prince sat back on the divan, still looking mildly confused but accepting. “We would never have that, here. It wouldn’t be considered appropriate.”

Inappropriate, and yet the Princess possessed a harem full of women while Reiner was intended to be a sexual slave to the Prince. Such contradictions would not have existed back home. Reiner and his kind were a straightforward people. “If it bothers you, I can choose another.”

The Prince shook his head quickly, looking curious almost to the point of excitement. “You can continue.”

Reiner liked the curiosity, he had to admit. He wondered if he was Bertholdt’s first male slave--it was a question he would remember to ask Marco later. “Well, Zeus being Zeus, Ganymede’s abduction was quite the ordeal. He whorled up a great tempest, calling upon hoards of black clouds to obscure his arrival, and in the cover of the storm and his mighty lightning bolts, he snatched up Ganymede within his talons. The frantic howling of Ganymede’s sheepdogs and the terrified protests of his tutors and comrades as they watched their friend disappear amongst the storm had no effect on Zeus--the crying of mortals and their hounds meant little to him, as long as he had the man whom he lusted after close to him, atop the Mount.”

The slave pursed his lips, as if he was trying to keep himself from laughing. “Of course, because Zeus hadn’t been able to keep his eyes off of Ganymede’s body--it’s said that his thighs were the most coveted part of him--he took his new acquisition straight to his bed before presenting him as cupbearer.” While he did succeed in refraining from laughter, there was no hiding the amused sparkle in Reiner’s eyes.

Bertholdt flushed deeply, burying his face in his hands. He couldn’t hide that he was paying rapt attention, however, his eyes as bright with interest as they were with embarrassment.

“But, of course, nothing ever happens peacefully on Mount Olympus. While most of the gods rejoiced at the announcement of their beautiful new cupbearer, there were some who were not so pleased--”

There was a brief knock on the door before a servant entered. Reiner hadn’t seen him before, which wasn’t exactly surprising. The servant bowed--well, that was putting it lightly. This must be what Marco had called prostration, because the man was kissing the floor and sweeping his hand in front of him. It was honestly a little embarrassing even to watch.

“Your Highness, your father respectfully requests your presence.”

The Prince was still flushing, and he visibly struggled to look normal. He was also evidently put out that he wasn’t going to hear the rest of the story.

“...Reiner, you may go.” Those few words sounded more Princely than anything Reiner had heard him say, though that was really not saying much. “I’ll, uh. Marco will fetch you again later.” It was gone just like that.

Reiner blinked. That was it, then? He watched Bertholdt rise in a swirl of expensive fabric, not without taking care to set the book in his lap carefully on the cushion behind him, then sweep out of the room at his impressive height. Reiner was left kneeling, cup of wine in hand. He waited until the jingling of the Prince’s jewelry faded out down the hall. Finally, silence.

The other servants lining the walls watched him expectantly. Reiner met a pair of eyes as he turned behind him to glance around the quarters. Bertholdt had said that he could leave, but had left before Reiner could do much more than stare, entranced at his new master. His shackles clanged against the platter he set his cup down on before rising.

He knew he was expected to leave, and so he would--and yet he couldn’t forget the way his name had sounded rolling off of the Prince’s tongue in an accent Reiner was beginning to find more and more attractive by the second.


End file.
